


Cuffing Season

by moochymochi



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Angst, Anxiety, Fluff, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Online Dating, Online Relationship, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexting, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-09-15 13:26:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16934079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moochymochi/pseuds/moochymochi
Summary: Pete is searching for companionship during the holiday season, and turns to Tinder for help. He meets Patrick and they begin an online relationship where even their worst self-doubts can't prevent their feelings. Unbeknownst to them, their apartments are mere steps away from each other.Neighbors AU. Mature in later chapters. Shy!Patrick and Anxious!Pete.





	1. Chapter 1

Pete’s laptop blinked at him, a message from Netflix asking if he wished to continue watching. He rolled his eyes and adjusted his posture. For the past three hours, he had been binging _The Office_ with his right hand sliding further and further toward his briefs. Those Jim and Pam scenes had aroused him to embarrassingly high levels. Worse, it was Saturday night. 

He should be out on a date or hunting for a bit of company at a bar. Something. Anything.

“Too cold,” he muttered as he pulled the couch’s blanket over his shoulders. One glance out the living room window reminded him of the steady snowfall. 

Cell phone in hand, Pete scrolled through the pages of downloaded apps. He quickly realized that, aside from the weird abundance food-related apps, there was nothing to spark his interest. He opened his text messages. The most recent one was from his sister, whose favorite pastime was giving unsolicited relationship advice:

_Maaaaan you need Tinder! For realz, try it!_

Pete clicked his tongue, “Tch. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.. Shit, and I’m talking to myself.”

Ten minutes later, he had Tinder on his home screen and was filling out the information for his profile. His toes curled with a soft excitement, each box he completed bringing him closer to whoever was on the other side. Soon uploading his best photos, his imagination began to run wild. He pictured a blonde, sensible guy that would take him ice skating and then would buy him a cup of hot chocolate to share on their first date. They would cozy up under a mistletoe and share a few smooches before heading back to his place and-- Submit! The profile was finished and the app was refreshing the main page.

Pete paused. He was intimidated by the clean, bright appearance of what he was looking at. After another moment of hesitation, he hopped onto his Internet browser and read a few Tinder guides. He learned about the whole swiping process, privacy settings, and the smoothest pick up lines. Probably the most useful, and most upsetting, information he learned was that the app was generally more geared toward hookups. Not to say that he didn’t want a hookup, he just would prefer an actual relationship. Like with all the sappy stuff he had been imagining earlier. He reopened the app and added his relationship expectations into his tiny biography. That should work.

“Wait, whoa,” he let out in surprise. Apparently, he had two new likes on his profile from a guy named Vince, and a guy named Jacob. Eagerly, he swiped right, and then panicked when he couldn’t think of what to say. The screen bubbled with heart emojis and text that declared ‘It’s a match!’. He fumbled for the article about the smooth pick up lines and stood from the couch. He paced around the apartment, frantic.

Lucky for him, Vince and Jacob were able to get the conversation going.

Pete chose to respond and chat with Vince first, since he seemed to be the cuter of the two. However, karma was swift in rewarding his shallowness.

_[Vince: You’re gorgeous, love the tattoos. How’s your Saturday going?]_

_[Pete: Hey thanks! You’re pretty handsome yourself. My Saturday is all right, I’ve been pretty lazy today.]_

_[Vince: I can help with that, gorgeous. I’ve got a king sized bed and some toys that’ll get your heart racing.]_

_[Pete: Pretty sure my parents taught me never to go over to a stranger’s house haha]_

_[Vince: You being serious?]_

_[Pete: Well yeah. Are you being serious?]_

_[Vince: Fuck off, I’m not here to play games.]_

_[- Vince is no longer accepting messages. -]_

Dumbfounded, he deleted the thread and went to try again with Jacob. He gulped and hovered his thumbs over the keyboard.

_[Jacob: Omg, I love love your smile! < 3]_

_[Pete: Thank you! Your smile is really adorable. You having a good weekend?]_

_[Jacob: Oh totally! : ) Much better now that I’m talking to you.]_

_[Pete: I’m definitely blushing at that, or maybe I haven’t flirted in forever?]_

_[Jacob: There’s no way you’ve been single for more than a day! I can’t believe no one has snatched you up.]_

_[Pete: Eh I guess I just like to take time between relationships.]_

_[Jacob: Crazy! I’m a serial monogamist. I’m also a big sap, I fall in love really fast.]_

_[Pete: Wow I don’t even know if I’ve ever been in love.]_

_[Jacob: No waaaaay! I could be your first true love < 3]_

_[- Pete is no longer accepting messages -]_

The cushions creaked with Pete’s shifting weight. He refreshed the main page and saw that a third person, Reggie, had liked his profile. Immediately, his eyebrows shot upward and he understood why people disliked online dating. Or whatever this was. Rather than returning the like, he went to read this person’s profile. He didn’t want to match with anyone who was potentially too intense for him.

When he decided that Reggie wasn’t long-term boyfriend material, he rejected the match. He sighed. Changing his approach, he went to explore the wide array of profiles that were presented to him. Among the studs and creeps seeking nothing more than sex, the only other options were men with huge red flags. It was frightening to see not one, but two men claiming to enjoy being controlling drama freaks. He winced with an onset of uncomfortable shivers. No, no thanks.

Pete’s fingers were eventually exhausted from scrolling. He noticed that it was well past midnight and figured he could investigate a final few profiles. His eyes were droopy with exhaustion and he didn’t think they would open any wider, almost subconsciously assuming that he would drift to sleep with his cell phone in hand. It was a peaceful idea, actually. He had on a half-smile and felt his grip slipping as he bounced to the next available profile.

“.. Wow.”

_Patrick, 21  
Active 1 week ago_

_Hello! Please don’t try to get @ me for sex or drugs. I’m interested in having a good time, but not that good of a time. Looking for my prince charming._

_I’m a musician and do soundwork for a local radio station. It’s about as glamorous as you’re imagining it. Sometimes the paparazzi follow me to Walmart when I’m out of cookie dough (I love cookie dough)._

_Star Wars movies and Mario Kart would be my ideal stay-at-home kind of date. I’ve got the TV and the console, you just need to bring the popcorn (and the right attitude)._

_I think Chicago is an amazing city and I’m so happy to be living here. I love meeting people from all over the world! It’s fun to be connected with a variety of people (unless you’re from LA)._

Pete flipped back and forth between the two photos Patrick had uploaded. The first was a portrait-esque photo that showed him grinning and strumming an electric guitar, his dirty blonde hair smushed across his forehead by a pair of headphones. The second was a candid shot of him laughing and cuddling a stuffed bear at the state fairgrounds. Entranced by the light that radiated from both photos, a swirl of warmth and want constricted Pete’s body. He initiated contact by liking the profile, and prayed that he would be worthy of a reply.

He reread the profile and noticed that Patrick had his location turned off. It was interesting because he had done the same thing during his own account setup. Now, of course, he was dying to know how close or far apart they were. All he could conclude was that they were in the same city. 

Across the street in a different apartment, a lamp was switched on, the room behind the curtains glowing in the night.

\---

The third shift at the local jazz station, WDCB on 90.9 FM, had ended early enough for Patrick to be home before dawn. He kicked off his boots, ruffled the snow flurries from his hair, and carried his backpack to the bedroom. Once he had changed into his pajamas, he checked the notifications on his cell phone. The flashing reminder at the top, due to a low battery, caught his attention and distracted him from whatever else appeared on his lock screen. He plugged in the device, retreating to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth.

Feeling fresh, he double-checked the notifications. Facebook, Reddit, Instagram.. Tinder!? He often forgot that it was even installed because of the minimal activity he experienced. Someone must have liked his profile in a drunken stupor. Regardless, he opened the app with an attentive expression. 

_Pete, 26  
Active 1 hour ago_

_“So nevermind the darkness, we can still find a way.” ← Bonus points if you can name the song!_

_Hey there, I’m Pete! I’m new to Tinder and I believe that dating can be lots of fun, if you put the effort into it. I love showing my dates a good time, whether it’s at a raging house party or at an art house film. Anyway, I’m really into fashion, poetry, baking, and 80’s music. I know all that makes me sound pretty gay, but I’m bi, I swear. Currently only interested in guys tho, cause girls seem to always mess with my head. So if you’re a cool, cute guy, then hit me up! I’m searching for a long-term relationship._

Patrick, intrigued and uncertain, went to view what photos Pete had uploaded. The first was a simple selfie where the sunset was being reflected in these deep brown eyes. Stunningly deep brown eyes. The second was Pete cheering at a Cubs game and sporting a Sammy Sosa jersey, and the third was him posing next to a snowman in a frozen field. It was a relief to find a potential match that passed for genuine and didn’t filter themselves into oblivion.

A few short breaths were taken in an effort to become calm. This whole trying to be appealing to random guys on a dating app known for one-night stands was difficult. Although, Pete had already sparked the courting process and noted on his profile that he wanted a major commitment. This could be the real deal. Or, he could be getting carried away for no reason with nothing other than a path of disappointment ahead of him. Negativity was his forte.

He was scared. It was easy to worry that the rather sassy image he portrayed within his profile’s biography would fall apart at the mercy of a true interaction. Seriously, he didn’t trust himself not to ruin relationships. His last couple of dates had ended with him being told that he was too quiet or too boring. And the issue wasn’t that he was lying about who was - he needed time to get to know another person in order to show the bolder facets of his personality. He couldn’t help it.

On the edge of the bed, Patrick crossed his legs and stared at Pete’s selfie photo. He was definitely attracted to him, and there were no alarm bells going off in his head. This might work out. At least for a little bit, anyway.

He swiped right and typed a casual ‘hi, nice to meet you’ .

There was an annoying punch of shame to his gut, which caused him to roll toward his pillows. Being social always took a toll on him, no matter how insignificant the circumstance. He tucked his cell phone beneath one pillow and placed his head on another. He assumed that Pete wouldn’t answer until later in the day, so drifting into dreamland was his preferred plan of action.

Except he couldn’t sleep. Not because of the sunshine splitting through the blinds or his broken box spring that squeaked at the slightest movements, no, he was restless with thoughts of Pete. The rational part of his brain was nowhere to be found as he envisioned the two of them holding hands, swaying to the music at some intimate indie show. It was romantic and relaxing and highly fucking unlikely. 

“Shut up,” Patrick fussed to no one in particular. He pinched his brows together and pressed his head harder against the pillow.

A minute later, his cell phone buzzed with a notification. He grabbed it so roughly that it was ripped from the charging cable. He was abruptly wide awake, lungs unable to get enough air in the rush of the moment. Dizzied, he read the message on his lock screen:

_Weather alert: Heavy stormfront moving in from the East, Chicago is expected to be.._

\--

By late Sunday afternoon, with the weekend on its last leg, Pete reopened Tinder. He had been ecstatic to receive a match and a message from Patrick, yet, in an effort to appear calm, he had chosen to wait nearly twelve hours until he responded. It was all intentional, his mental preparation at its peak for their first interaction.

_[Patrick: hi, nice to meet you.]_

_[Pete: Nice to meet you! I really like the guitar in your profile photo. Is it a Super Strat?]_

_[Patrick: it is. you know about guitars?]_

_[Pete: Yeah, my ex had a ton of them. I never played or anything, I just was forced to learn the different types.]_

Hang on. Pete glanced over what he had just typed. Aware that he had mentioned an ex within the first minute of talking, he cursed and anxiously tugged at the hem of his sweater. The grey fabric stretched, and the DePaul University logo became distorted by his grasp. His stress was heightened by the appearance and disappearance of the three ellipses within the chat. Whatever reaction had been created, they were at a standstill with the indecision of what to say.

He was about to type a new message to change the subject, and looked up to see that he had been saved from his own stupidity. 

_[Patrick: does that mean you have a thing for musicians? that’s probably the best way to ask the universe for trouble.]_

_[Pete: Hah, no, I wouldn’t say that musicians are my type. It’s a plus, tho.]_

_[Patrick: i see. mind telling me why it’s a plus?]_

_[Pete: Uhh.. Now I’m on the spot.._

_Well I love when talented people show me that talent. Like, if you’re dating a talented person, then they can share that talent with you in a more private setting. It’s special, you know?]_

_[Patrick: i think i get it. it sounds perverted, but i get it.]_

_[Pete: Sorry! I can be terrible with words sometimes, which is ridiculous because I’m a newspaper editor.]_

_[Patrick: oh cool. we both work in dying fields - radio and printed news.]_

Pete laughed. Thank goodness he hadn’t made it awkward about the ex. He was already liking Patrick more than he would have guessed. Unfortunately, that put a newfound pressure on the situation. He didn’t want to fuck this up, and he felt like that was a strong possibility. Getting too confident too soon would surely ruin his chances here.

_[Pete: Funny : )_

_So I take it you’re just as broke as me?]_

_[Patrick: depends on the week. for example, this week i’m pretty broke.]_

_[Pete: Aww, how come?]_

_[Patrick: i kinda bought a bunch of take out this week. pizza and sushi, mostly. not that you asked.]_

_[Pete: Well I was about to ask haha. Fav pizza toppings?]_

_[Patrick: pineapple and jalepenos and bacon.]_

_[Pete: Sounds interesting, I’ve never had anything like that.]_

_[Patrick: you should try it sometime, it’ll expand your cultural horizons.]_

Heart thumping faster, Pete recognized this to be a perfect opportunity to ask Patrick out. He knew exactly what he should say, too. Okay, okay, don’t mess up.

_[Pete: Could I try a pineapple/jalepeno/bacon pizza with you? I’m sure it would taste even better.]_

_[Patrick: hmm, idk. that’s pretty forward of you.]_

Pete’s thumping heart sank. He had messed up.

_[Patrick: look, i think you’re attractive. your eyes are beautiful. you also seem friendly and sweet, and i want to talk with you more before meeting up.]_

_[Pete: Yeah? Okay, that sounds good to me.]_

_[Patrick: i appreciate it. i’ll ttyl, i’ve got to go grab some dinner. this food talk has made me hungry.]_

_[Pete: Sure! Have a good night.]_

_[Patrick: night.]_

In a daze, Pete stood from the couch. His fuzzy socks slid along the hardwood floors, bringing him to the living room window. He wished he could have talked with Patrick more, though he considered himself blessed for not being completely ditched. He supposed that he had jumped the gun on asking him for a date, and would keep that in mind for their next interaction. He shook his head at his idiotic behavior and stared out at the night sky. The gauzy apartment curtains framed his dark silhouette while the moon and stars were obscured by the city lights. He exhaled, imagining Patrick. How his voice sounded, the smell of his hair, the touch of his hands; the secrets and stories he held.

On the street below, a young man trotted by with his hood up and cell phone in his face. He was scrolling through a recent conversation, smiling, and heading to the corner convenience store.


	2. Chapter 2

In the following days (less than a week since they had first matched!) Patrick had developed a routine with Pete. Overall, it was an hour of chatting in the morning, an hour around lunch, and then two to three hours in the evening. He would be glued to his cell phone and did his best not to answer too slowly or too eagerly, always on his toes in case there was any loss of interest. The recent search history for his Google account showed how much effort he put in to keeping the conversation flowing:

_“What does ‘Hey’ with three y’s mean?”_

_“Good Dad jokes”_

_“Who’s the lead singer of Guns N’ Roses?”_

_“Best lines from famous love poems”_

Honestly, he was exhausted from the constant digital interaction. And he appreciated it when he told Pete that he needed to disconnect and recharge as a human. So far, he hadn’t received any backlash for not being constantly online, and that only increased his cravings for Pete. He had to restrain himself from sending messages in the the early morning hours, where his mind felt the most vulnerable. There was something about the frosted moon, waiting for its counterpart to awaken, that gave him these pangs of fanciful wanting. To combat it, he would tuck his cell phone into the night stand’s drawer and count backwards until he fell asleep. 

By Friday, the winter weather was hitting Chicago in cold, relentless waves. Patrick had begged the radio station’s manager to go home early, his mouth moving a mile a minute to remind him of every single project he had worked on today. His ears were still ringing from having to recalibrate the station’s audio system to entirely new specifications, he added, and he was dismissed with a shrug. He relayed his gratitude, gathered his belongings, and caught the next bus on the corner of Lambert and Fawell. 

His palm seemed to fuse with the metal of the ceiling’s railing, and he despised the chill it stirred within him. Granted, he didn’t have much of a choice if he was expecting to stay upright for the journey home. No seats were available. He couldn’t even check his messages because of how bumpy the roads were, he wasn’t risking dropping his device onto the filthy floors below. Tinder would have to wait for when he was safely in his bed. Impatiently, he tugged his scarf over the majority of his face and adjusted his vintage MTV beanie to fully protect his ears. He was unrecognizable in the bundle of clothing, his peering blue greens being the most distinguishing feature.

The hour long bus ride brought Patrick a half-mile from his apartment complex, and he was beyond ready to wriggle his way out. Through clusters of elderly women and dodging loud teenagers, he made it to the sliding doors. He thanked the bus driver when they opened and stepped forward. He had his right foot on the ground when he became boxed in out of nowhere. He grunted, his shoulder caught against another.

“Oh, excuse me,” Patrick said with the faintest spit of sarcasm. “Didn’t see you.”

“Didn’t see you, either. Watch where you’re goin’,” the man answered. His jacket collar was flared high against his neck, and a swath of dark hair masked part of his face. He didn’t bother to look over at the source of his irritation since exiting the bus was his sole priority.

Patrick crinkled his nose, pushing and landing his other foot on the ground, “You prick, get a life.”

“Up yours, buddy.”

Patrick tossed a glare at the man, who was walking off the bus with a middle finger on display, and he fought the urge to snap back at him. Fuck, it’s not worth it. Besides, it was the weekend and he had someone waiting to talk to him. Sort of. He didn’t want to ruin his good mood by furthering an argument with this asshole on public transit. 

He hustled to his apartment, climbing the three flights of stairs that led him to the third floor. Inside, he immediately had the heat going on the setting that would cost him the least while also keeping him fairly warm. Seventy degrees was his best bet. He began to thaw and fumble through his cell phone.

No new messages. 

Patrick read several of their previous conversations and saw that there was a pattern of Pete being the initiator. He floundered, stuck wondering if he should return the favor. Would that be weird? What would he say? He gawked at the screen for a solid thirty seconds before settling on a teasing one-liner.

_[Patrick: did i mention i can read minds? i know you’re thinking about me.]_

_[Pete: Oh, you caught me hah! I just got home from work. The bus was packed and people were practically trampling me to get out.]_

_[Patrick: yeah, that’s pretty typical around here. rude pricks everywhere.]_

_[Pete: There was no room on the bus at all. Like, at all! If you were with me, I would have kept you close enough to pop your personal bubble._

_Wait that sounded really bad!]_

Chuckling, Patrick reassured him that he knew what he meant. In his bedroom, he slid to the floor with his head reclining on the bottom right corner of the mattress. The fitted sheet that covered it was cool beneath his scalp, and he lazily flopped his cell phone between his hands. He stopped when an idea crept forth.

Since he had been bold in his willingness to launch tonight’s chat, he could be bold in other ways, as well.

_[Patrick: speaking of popping.. are you a virgin?]_

_[Pete: I guess? I’ve never had sex with a guy, if that’s what you’re getting at. Just girls.]_

_[Patrick: gotcha. i’ve been with guys, but i’ve never_

_like,]_

_[Pete: Never made it that far?]_

_[Patrick: pretty much.]_

\---

Dressed in a robe and slippers with a bowl of Lucky Charms, Pete was thoroughly enjoying his Saturday morning. There was a generic holiday movie playing on his laptop, mostly for background noise, and his gaze occasionally found its way over. The main actor and actress were doing a pitiful job, and he made a face when they kissed under a mistletoe branch. He turned away and scooped a spoonful of marshmallows and milk, slurping. 

He wondered how his first kiss with Patrick would be. He wasn’t trying to assume anything would happen between them, however, their consistent messaging pattern with its progressively intimate nature pointed to an eventual moment of truth. Last night, they had discussed a possible meetup next weekend. He was certain that, should everything go well, he wouldn’t be able to resist making a move. From the profile photos, Patrick was stunning, and he couldn’t wait to meet him in person.

Pete set his finished breakfast onto the coffee table in front of him, that final thought lingering. Now that it was on his mind.. He _hoped_ Patrick was the same as his photos.

In the next minute, his cell phone was in his hand and he was typing quicker than he could think.

_[Pete: Good morning! Are you too sleepy to send me a bedhead pic? Or too modest? : )_

_Because let me tell you.. That would make my day.]_

_[Patrick: yikes. why the random request?]_

_[Pete: Mostly because I already have your two profile pics memorized. My bad. Also, I want to make sure you’re not some FBI agent.]_

_[Patrick: pfft, i guess. can it just be my face? the rest of me is gross.]_

_[Pete: Yeah, just your face is cool. And don’t say you’re gross, because then I must be hideous.]_

_[Patrick: can you send me one, too?]_

_[Pete: Okay. You first, though.]_

_[Patrick: why?]_

_[Pete: I asked first, duh!]_

_[Patrick: ugh, fine._

_\- Image -]_

Pete held his breath in the instant it took to load the photo. When he blew the air out, he whistled in approval at what he was seeing. 

With a pillow behind his head, Patrick lay snuggled underneath a comforter. His pale, pudgy cheeks were tinted a light pink that reminded him of a foggy sunrise over Navy Pier. Better yet, he was winking with a gentle pout on his lips. It was simultaneously innocent and provocative to the point that it must have been done on purpose.

_[Pete: You’re a beauty. Truly, I’m awestruck.]_

_[Patrick: mm.]_

_[Pete: - Image-]_

Pete’s photo was more rigid, apparently trying to act nonchalant. Leaning into the camera, he had his head tilted to one side with his thick eyebrows raised into a faint curve. His hair was a ruffled mess of black, though it had been flattened at the front in an attempt to look well-groomed. The straightened strands fell across part of his forehead and covered most of his left eye.

He became concerned when there wasn’t a lightning fast reply. The sent image was marked as ‘read’, and the icon next to Patrick’s name indicated that he was online. So where was he? Had he pissed him off? He knew he shouldn’t leap to conclusions, because patience was a critical element of the dating game. Relax. He forced himself to wait a full five minutes prior to reaching out again.

_[Pete: Did you get it? Your silence is deafening ahhh!]_

_[Patrick: i got it. i think you look nice.]_

_[Pete: I appreciate the descriptive input!]_

_[Patrick: how’s this.. you look /very/ nice. happy?]_

_[Pete: Actually, I’m /very/ happy.]_

_[Patrick: you’re hilarious.]_

Grinning, Pete was indeed the poster child for happiness. Their previous conversations had taught him that Patrick’s personality was subdued, and he wasn’t prone to showing emotions. The comments about him being nice and hilarious could effortlessly pass for the most profound compliments of the century. To be clear, it worked like a charm on him. He was unreasonably smitten.

He scrolled up to stare at the bedroom selfie, and toyed with the temptation of saving it to his device. He shook his head, paranoid that Tinder would alert Patrick to what a freak he was. Instead, he continued to stare, pupils dilating and fingers tapping to zoom in. He stopped at the sound of an incoming notification. 

_[Patrick: plans for today?]_

_[Pete: Eat, sleep, and talk to you. If you’ll have me, that is.]_

_[Patrick: absolutely.]_

Pete gave way to a shiver that rolled from his toes to his tongue. A million different scenarios for their future meetup flashed across his mind, and he wished it was already here.

\---

Around dinner, close to six o’ clock, Pete was finishing with bit of tidying up. He knew he could bum around for the whole day, given the chance, and he didn’t want end up scrambling to sanitize next weekend. With the possibility of a guest coming for a visit, he had to secure his space as a spotless little paradise.

Currently, he reeked of Windex and Lysol. He had been scrubbing the bathroom, clad in rubber gloves and a bandanna. It wasn’t his most alluring look by a longshot. Still, he couldn’t complain too much, nope, not when never had to cook. Aside from baking, he was terrible in the kitchen and typically dated people who were either gifted chefs, or people who were content to go out for every meal.

Pete had been daydreaming about Patrick cooking for him during his cleaning session. He pictured him making a fancy pasta dish with an apron tight over his clothes, the strings tied into a bouncy bow above his ass. The smell of the rich ingredients would make his mouth water, and he would eat every last bite he was served. Afterwards, he would give his compliments to the chef. The praising would turn to hugging, which would turn to rubbing and squeezing and..

He cleared his throat. As he stood from where he had been hunched over the bathtub, he straightened the briefs to reposition his cock to be less obvious. He was halfway to having a complete bulge, the daydream undeniably at fault.

“Oops,” he hummed, thankful that he was alone. He gathered the cleaning supplies and replaced them in the cabinet beneath the sink. His hands and forearms were washed of the persistent chemical aromas, his movements cautious to avoid splattering water on the mirror.

In the living room, he unplugged his cell phone from its charging cable. Without considering his weakened state of mind, he launched Tinder. There were a couple of new ‘likes’ on his profile that he disregarded, now making a beeline for Patrick’s photos. He felt the arousal return in a small wave, his lower half suddenly warmer than usual. He loosened the robe’s belt and allowed his fingertips to glide down his stomach. The thin streak of hair that met his touch caused him to waver, weighing his options. He remembered the selfie from this morning’s chat and went to retrieve it. Naturally, it was better than the mental sketch he had created. It amazed him how he could lose himself in that face, those unfeigned features poised to seduce him. Or, at least, that’s what he liked to think.

Biting back the anxiety, he decided to take a risk.

_[Pete: Can I be honest with you?]_

_[Patrick: sure.]_

_[Pete: I’ve been thinking about you all damn day. Can’t get you out of my head. I blame that perfect pic you sent me earlier.]_

Pete waited. The message had been left on ‘read’ and there was no ellipse to indicate that Patrick was typing. He was helpless aside from watching the screen. And no matter how badly he wanted to, he refused to send a second message. He had to be brave.

_[Patrick: you seriously liked it that much?]_

_[Pete: Yes! : ) You’re so handsome.]_

_[Patrick: thanks. you’re handsome, too._

_i mean, if we’re being honest,_

_you’re hot.]_

_[Pete: You flatter me.]_

_[Patrick: you’re welcome.]_

_[Pete: - Image -]_

Being labeled ‘hot’ was exactly what Pete needed to have the confidence to push the boundaries. The photo he had sent was another selfie, not that it necessarily focused on his face. It was more erotic with how he had angled it - the camera aimed downward to capture his slack robe, exposing a sun-kissed chest and stomach. There was noticeable definition in his abdominal muscles, and several previously hidden tattoos were revealed. His briefs were also visible at the bottom of the photo, made prominent by a swell of affection. Patrick’s compliments truly turned him on.

_[Pete: Sorry for being extra. I wanted you to know that I’m hot because you /make/ me hot.]_

_[Patrick: don’t apologize. do you send this pic to everyone you’re flirting with?]_

_[Pete: Hell no, it’s for you and I’m trusting you won’t post it all over social media.]_

_[Patrick: don’t worry, i’ll behave.]_

_[Pete: You don’t have to behave in every sense of the word. I’d love to see what you’re up to right now.]_

_[Patrick: .. i’ve never shared pics like this before. idk.]_

_[Pete: Hey, I understand. Do whatever you’re comfortable with. But if you don’t mind, I have more to show you.]_

_[Patrick: yeah, i don’t mind.]_


	3. Chapter 3

Pete hadn’t been _this_ preoccupied with how he looked in photos since college. It was simultaneously invigorating and exhausting. He fussed over angles and lighting and his expression, though his face wasn’t always conspicuous. In the more suggestive photos, the most he would reveal was his chin. Anything above that invisible line seemed too risky.

Regardless, he was having fun with it.

The undivided attention on his body intertwined with their overall conversation kept him feverish with anticipation. His couch and bed had transformed into sanctuaries for amateur pornography, complete with black leather upholstery and cheap underwear. He maintained a messy-but-sleek style for his hair and clothes, much to the delight of the receiving end. He was pleased by how the photos had a mellowing effect on Patrick’s stubbornness and lack of full-bodied responses. They were communicating in a more authentic manner with each additional message. 

_[Patrick: you’re lucky you got out of work early, i only got home an hour ago.]_

_[Pete: Lame! Your boss sounds like a jerk.]_

_[Patrick: yep. and i believe it’s already the middle of the week. i’m nervous for sunday..]_

_[Pete: Right? It’s scary to think about all the Christmas shopping I have to do.]_

_[Patrick: you know what i mean.]_

Pete wouldn’t admit it to his own apprehension for the date, suspecting that it would do nothing to calm Patrick. It was, technically, lying by omission because he hadn’t been directly asked about how nervous he was.

_[Pete: I know, oops, I was kidding. We still good for Bridgeport at 2?]_

_[Patrick: yeah. i’ve never,_

_like,_

_been on a coffee date. it should be interesting.]_

_[Pete: I’m just excited to talk to you in person : ) We’ll have a good time!]_

_[Patrick: hey sorry in advanced if i’m shy. people give me shit for that sometimes.]_

_[Pete: Don’t worry! Can I do something to help you relax around me?]_

_[Patrick: i would say stop sending me pics, but that’s my brain talking over my dick.]_

It was an abrupt transition, and Pete was prepared to roll with it. How could he not? This was becoming their standard. Intending to unleash a slew of vulgar language, he hovered his fingers over the keyboard. He drew a blank and was surprised by how he couldn’t come up with a decent one-liner. He shrugged and flipped to his home screen to activate the camera, opting for a simpler method.

In an effort to keep himself hidden from potentially nosey neighbors, he first went to the living room window to shut the curtains. Once that was settled, he combed through his hair with his fingers, the makeshift grooming enough to satisfy him. He plopped on the couch and changed the camera to be front-facing. He looked presentable, and he knew how to make presentable into fuckable. That’s what he was betting on, anyway.

He took the v-neck he was wearing and carefully tucked the long sleeves into themselves, ending up with a crisp fold right past his elbows. His lips were licked to provide a soft glisten, his teeth establishing a pearly background. At last, he stretched out diagonally on the couch and grabbed shirt’s bottom hem with the intention of holding it with his mouth. His naked stomach and chest were the camera’s central fixation. He took a burst of photos, managing not to show below his belly button while including how he held up the v-neck with his jaw.

He selected his favorite photo - was that an odd way to describe it? - and sent it to Patrick. The thudding of his heart rushed his blood forth, and he was giddy with how this could play out. 

_[Pete: Do you mean these kinds of pics?_

_\- Image -]_

_[Patrick: yes officer, this man right here.]_

_[Pete: Aw, is it that bad?]_

_[Patrick: it’s something. it’s a lot. how is your stomach so flat? i could stare at it forever.]_

_[Pete: I’m gonna go ahead and say it’s my metabolism and my secret talent of forgetting to eat lunch.]_

_[Patrick: well you’re doing a great job.]_

_[Pete: Ooh, you’re making me blush. What else are you trying to do make me do?]_

Pete moved to sit with his legs crossed. He balanced his cell phone on one knee and reached for his water glass on the coffee table. All that rushing blood had him sweltering, and he needed to cool off. He took several gulps during his wait for a reply. The chime of an incoming notification had him on the verge of spilling onto the floor. He hurried to read the new message.

_[Patrick: i want to make you lay still as i kiss my way along your body. you have to lay extra still for when i bite you, too.]_

_[Pete: Damn, where am I getting bitten?]_

_[Patrick: probably on your hips and shoulders. i can picture myself tasting that silky skin.]_

_[Pete: Yes please._

_Can I bite you?]_

_[Patrick: maybe. i’m sensitive about that stuff.]_

_[Pete: Sensitive is sexy. Hearing you make a bunch of sounds would be heaven.]_

_[Patrick: my sounds aren’t that great.]_

_[Pete: What sound would you make if I had you in my arms_

_Making out against a wall_

_With my hand on your cock over your pants?]_

_[Patrick: oh. i’d probably be saying your name.]_  
  
\---

In Patrick’s opinion, he had the better end of the deal in the exchanges with Pete. His job was easy. Quite literally, he was able to sit back and kick his feet up. He engaged in their chat and admired the sensual photos for the works of art that they were. Beyond the few selfies that showed no more than his face, he didn’t have to stress over how he was perceived. No faking a pose, no strategically hiding his gut. He merely indulged in the virtual company.

It wasn’t until the day before their meetup that he started to question himself.

_[Patrick: do you think it’ll be awkward tomorrow?]_

_[Pete: No? Wait, why? Did I upset you?]_

_[Patrick: no. i mean because of the pics and everything.]_

_[Pete: Ahhh I /did/ upset you. : ( My bad, I knew I should have kept it in my pants.]_

Patrick struggled to find the right description. He half-wished that he could call Pete and explain what he meant. That was impossible, for the time being, and he aimed a frown at his cell phone. 

_[Patrick: i mean that it might be awkward because i’ve seen you on a more private level, and you haven’t seen much besides my face.]_

_[Pete: I think it’ll be okay. I don’t judge you for not sharing and you don’t judge me for oversharing._

_And guess what? From what I’ve seen, you’re a certified babe.]_

_[Patrick: wow, i’m honored. my parents will be proud.]_

_[Pete: Now you’re getting it!]_

Certified babe or not, doubts continued to lurk whenever he imagined their meetup. Pete was bold and attractive, which made sense in how enthusiastic he was to show off his assets. And he didn’t want to compete with that, no way, he wanted to be fair. Fairness was a solid quality to have in the beginnings of a relationship, wasn’t it? It was like agreeing to split the dinner bill at an expensive restaurant. Plus, it was safe to assume that Pete would be receptive to a couple of dirty photos. 

He was tempted, his timid nature pushing to hit the breaks.

_[Patrick: hang on. i’m gonna send you a pic.]_

_[Pete: Your heart must have grown three sizes, Mr. Grinch! Is it the kind of pic I’m hoping it is?]_

_[Patrick: yes. this doesn’t mean i’m gonna sleep with you anytime soon, got it?]_

_[Pete: Yessir.]_

_[Patrick: it’s a one time thing. i won’t even send anything if i can’t make it look how i want.]_

_[Pete: I’m excited!]_

Patrick flipped over from where he was laying on his bed to take a peek out the window. There was probably only another hour of light left, so he shrugged and went to shut the blinds. He walked to switch on the lamp and caught a glimpse in the bathroom mirror. His features were moody and dull, and he had a flood of disapproval wash over him. He had to be careful to keep his face out of the photo.

In bed, he nestled among the sheets to get comfortable. His cell phone sat waiting on the nightstand as he planned how he was going to do this. He removed his sweatpants, decided he was too exposed, and reset them at his hips. Next, he pulled his pajama top over his head. The sleeves became stuck behind his ears and he instantly noticed how belly bounced with the movements. He made gagging sound and shoved it back into place. 

Nevermind taking the right photo, he had failed to undress.

Patrick stacked his pillow behind him and rested against it like a chair. This sucked! He was lost and fighting feelings of incompetence, his hands fidgeting with the buttons of his pajama top. Their ivory color matched with the fabric’s wintery theme of snowmen and evergreen trees. The cute pattern had caught his eye at Target and prompted him to buy it. Despite the buttons being a hassle for a sleeping garment, he thought it made everything feel more coordinated and elegant. 

“Hm.. Maybe I could..?” he said under his breath. The words were followed by him undoing the first three buttons of the pajama top. 

With his upper chest exposed, he plucked his cell phone from the nightstand and opened the camera. Gingerly, he lowered the lense to focus on the bare skin. He had a fine layer of peach fuzz and a sprinkling of freckles that he hoped weren’t too off-putting. His mouth was inevitably in the frame, requiring a delicate smile on his lips. The finishing touch was having a single finger hooked on the pajama top’s collar, as if he were dying to do away with his clothes. He strained and held the pose. He took three or four photos, then went to review them. 

Patrick chose the photo that appeared to be the most candid and deleted the others. He began to redo the buttons, resuming his conversation with Pete. The photo was uploaded and he hurriedly smacked the ‘Send’ button to avoid his reluctance getting the better of him. 

_[Patrick: - Image -]_

_[Pete: Holy fuck you look spectacular. And you’re /such/ a tease!]_

_[Patrick: i’m not a tease, but thanks for the compliment.]_

_[Pete: Either way, I’m digging how you took the pic. It makes me want to know what else you’re hiding under those clothes.]_

_[Patrick: well you’re not finding out anytime soon.]_

_[Pete: Is that a threat or a promise?]_

_[Patrick: depends on how our date goes.]_

\---

Patrick was positive that he had obsessed over the photo more than Pete ever could. He repeatedly scanned it for imperfections, wincing whenever he swore he saw a part of it that was ‘ugly’. Dinner was abandoned completely with how engrossed he became in the photo. It wasn’t that he regretted sending it, not really, it was his insecurities that were driving him up the wall. The irrational chunk of his subconscious with the power to shoot down the slightest lick of courage. 

In the end, he couldn’t take the photo back. Pete had said that he loved it and it was destined to float around Tinder’s messaging system for all of eternity. 

_[Pete: Hey you said you have a vinyl collection, right?]_

_[Patrick: yeah, i do. most of them are from my dad or random finds at record stores.]_

_[Pete: Nice! Maybe we can go to a record store after Bridgeport? Caffeine makes me want to go and do things.]_

_[Patrick: i’m a decaff guy..]_

_[Pete: I should have known : )_

_And I mean that in the kindest possible way!]_

With a laugh, Patrick shifted to sit on the edge of his bed. On top of his dresser, there were dozens of vinyls aligned in a neat row, held upright by ceramic statues of Union Station on either side. From classic Bowie to contemporary Frank Ocean, his collection was diverse and in mint condition. Most were protected by some type of plastic cover that distorted the text on the spines. It didn’t particularly matter, since he had memorized their order and could pull what he needed without thinking.

_[Patrick: trust me, you don’t want to get stuck in a record store with me. i get quiet and boring.]_

_[Pete: Nah, I could handle it! I’d be down for dedicating a whole day for that.]_

_[Patrick: hm. i’ll keep that in mind.]_

He ignored the desire to, once again, broach the subject of the photos. A possibility existed for a relationship to, well, _exist_ and he wasn’t going to ruin it by fretting over a naughty selfie. What’s more, being alone this time of year was the worst. He instead searched for a distraction. His search ended with the sound of squeaking tires and an idling engine. A UPS truck could be heard at the curb of his apartment complex, which meant that packages were being delivered. He had ordered a set of guitar strings and a Christmas gift for his mother last week, and he figured they had arrived. He went to the kitchen to gather his mail key from the counter, his coat and boots put on in preparation for stepping outside.

Past the stairwell and toward the leasing office, Patrick went to unlock mailbox number 331. He found two tiny packages and a stack of bills mingled with coupon-filled flyers. He relocked the mailbox and spun on his heel, returning inside. The pathway, he observed, was rich with moonlight. Its opalescent sheen caused him to gaze up at the sky, his irises wide with the moon’s radiance. 

“Cool,” he said, now with his cell phone in hand to capture it. He snapped a photo, the moon’s fullness and gossamer halo devouring his screen. He messaged it to Pete and jogged to the stairwell.

_[Patrick: - Image -]_

_[Pete: Is that the moon?]_

_[Patrick: no, it’s the alien spaceship that’s taking me home.]_

_[Pete: Take me to your leader! I want to ask if you can hang around Earth for a little bit longer.]_

Patrick had re-entered his apartment, set the mail on the counter, and shimmed free of his coat and boots. The thawing sensation of moving from a cold environment to a warm one nipped at his nose and toes. He shuddered and shook it away. He read Pete’s latest message as he rewrapped himself in a cocoon of blankets on the bed. Braving the frigid weather had hardly phased him, his thoughts of the other man keeping him perfectly toasty. 

_[Patrick: take you to the leader? i am the leader!]_

_[Pete: I knew it! We could be the first interspecies couple.]_

_[Patrick: no comment.]_

_[Pete: Look!_

_\- Image -]_

Pete’s photo had him flaunting a huge grin with the moon on his shoulder. His breath was almost visible and his free hand was flashing a peace sign that was partially cut off at the bottom. He had sprinted outside for a quick snapshot moments after Patrick had vanished from sight - like two oblivious, infatuated ships passing in the night.


	4. Chapter 4

On Sunday, Patrick saluted the morning with a scowl. He had overslept by several hours, waking up at half-past eleven rather than eight. As he rubbed his eyes, he recalled having an intense dream where he was chasing a faceless man through the snow. It had left him unsettled with the edges of his imagination ripe with fear. Hopefully, it wasn’t a premonition for how today was going to go. He cringed and moved to roll out of bed.

In the bathroom, he plugged in his space heater and closed the door. The warmth enveloped him and encouraged him to shed his clothes. He stepped into the shower after turning up the water’s temperature and grabbing his favorite face wash. Not wanting to waste too much time, he scrubbed his body and washed his hair in under twenty minutes. The steam that had fogged the mirror was wiped away when he was finished, a fresh towel used to dry himself. The towel was then tucked around his hips to allow him to blow dry his hair. The damp dirty blonde locks would never air dry in time for the date, which meant they had to suffer under heat of the styling tool.

“Ugh.. Brrr,” he grumbled, clawed by the bedroom’s chill. He had exited the bathroom, ready to decide on an outfit.

Patrick dropped his towel to slip into a clean pair of briefs and socks. An undershirt and jeans followed, and he stared at the assortment of sweaters clogging his closet. A good two-thirds of his winter garments were sweaters! He had everything from oversized holiday ones that were worn maybe twice a year, to skin-tight cable knit ones that had had owned since high school. The range of colors and patterns was somewhat annoying, his head shaking at how much material he had to sort through.

Eventually, he chose a plain purple sweater with a rounded neckline. Its dark, almost violet color stood out on the canvas of his pale skin. There was a matching beanie, as well, though he set it on the dresser for when he actually went outside. For now, he adjusted the sleeves to rest near his elbows and buckled a belt through the loops at his waist. The stray fuzzies he had noticed while putting on his outfit were eliminated by a lint roller. The sticky paper danced over denim and wool, giving his clothes that manicured appearance. He didn’t stop until he was satisfied, and brushed his hands wherever the lint roller had touched for a final inspection. 

He felt good. He _looked_ good. And he knew that was an easy conclusion to come to alone in his bedroom. With nobody for comparison.

Patrick silently told his introverted bullshit to shut it. He walked away from the closet and returned to the bathroom. Inside, he opened the medicine cabinet to find his favorite cologne. Being someone who didn’t get gussied up too often, the skinny glass bottle was practically full. He spritzed it onto his neck and wrists, rubbing it in with his fingers. The scent was a smoldering cedar wood mixed with notes of vanilla liqueur and sugar. Its tenderness had a touch of femininity to it, sure, but he didn’t necessarily believe that to be a bad thing.

He went to snag a granola bar from the kitchen pantry. It was small and barely enough to qualify for a late breakfast, the bits of dried cranberries and chocolate chips providing a sweet spark on his taste buds. He ate it over the sink, not wanting crumbs on the counter or floor, and tossed the wrapper in the trash afterwards. His hands were washed and he went to revisit the bathroom. 

Patrick wet his toothbrush and used a generous dollop of Colgate. He grimaced at the initial taste against his tongue, the mintiness not meshing well with the granola bar’s aftertaste. Soon he was spitting and rinsing his mouth, the faucet on full-blast. He lay his toothbrush back onto the sink’s edge and reached for his chapstick to coat his lips. He examined his reflection again and again, expecting it to change for the better. It didn’t.

Checking his cell phone, he noted that he had a little more than an hour to be punctual for his date. He toyed with the idea of sending Pete a message, and gave in to the argument that it would be the polite thing to do.

_[Patrick: good morning.]_

_[Pete: It’s afternoon, silly. Is your watch running late? Then you better go catch it!]_

_[Patrick: that’s definitely not how the joke goes.]_

_[Pete: You’re right! I got me a smart one ; ) Maybe you can do my taxes?]_

_[Patrick: no way. my dad still helps me with mine.]_

_[Pete: Yes, please tell me all about your father right before our date.]_

_[Patrick: sorry.]_

_[Pete: I’m teasing, and I’ll see you real soon!]_

\---

Although Pete could continue chatting with Patrick, he knew he should finish getting dressed. He kicked free of his pajama bottoms and went to his closet to find a pair of pants. He dug around for a moment, irritated to find that he only had one pair that wasn’t stained or wrinkled to death. The pants in question were black, tight, and had a stitched cuff at the ankle. He curved his shoulders with indifference and put them on. The snug fit made his ass look good, however, it also made his junk into a display for the whole world to see. Using his bedroom’s full-length mirror, he rearranged himself until his business was less obvious.

The hoodie he had on was his preferred ‘date hoodie’ - if that was even allowed to be a thing. Its oversized design was cute on his slim figure, the sleeves falling well beyond his wrists. It had a tiny skull embroidered on the breast pocket, the abrasive bone color contrasting with the hoodie’s overall gray fabric. He did a cursory smell check by tugging the collar up to his nose and judged it to be non-offensive. Though it undeniably had his scent.

Pete snatched his flat iron from its oh-so-typical spot on the floor. His hair was fluffy due to last night’s shower, the musky aroma of his shampoo lingering. On its highest setting, he plugged it into a wall outlet and waited. Once it was hot, he straightened each section of his hair. By the time he was content with the results, his scalp was sore and his bangs had formed a delightful swoop across his forehead. He gave the mirror a cheesy smile.

In the not-too-distant past, he would have had another step to his routine that involved eye makeup. He used to love highlighting his whiskey browns with a smudging of inky eyeliner and eyeshadow. It had been a bandwagon trend, without a doubt, and he had rocked it with a youthful face and energy. Being 26 meant that he had to embrace adulthood. For the most part, anyway. Though he had ditched the eye makeup, he refused to give up his graphic t-shirts or his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle glassware set. It was important to maintain some semblance of his childhood in order to not go crazy in the aging process.

The clock on his cell phone told him he had a half hour before needing to head out. He tapped his fingers rapidly on the home screen, wondering if he should leave now and arrive early to play it safe. Would that be weird? Is that what people did for Tinder dates? He didn’t know, and he didn’t want to be trapped in a place that would prevent him from pacing. The pacing was inevitable. It wasn’t exactly a coping mechanism for his anxiety, it was more of a.. habit he had zero control over. 

He reasoned that it was better to start with the pacing sooner rather than later. So, he stood and did a few laps in the apartment, adding practice conversations to spice it up.

“Great to meet ya! How’s it goin’?” Pete tried, immediately disliking how casual it sounded. That could be a potential turn off. He made a second attempt, “Hello! You’re looking absolutely beautiful today.”

‘Beautiful’ might not be what most guys would want to hear. Was Patrick the same as most guys? Yes? No? Nevertheless, he went in for a third round, saying, “Hi! I’m Pete, you must be Patrick.. Patrick..”

Pete ran his tongue along the roof of his mouth. This was the first time had spoken Patrick’s name aloud. It felt foreign and a bit clumsy. It was a common name, and yet he didn’t know anyone else who had it. He was glad for that, his pacing increasing to a light jog. He slowed down a second later, worried he might sweat.

“You’re more gorgeous in person-- Wait, wait. You’re gorgeous! You’re,” he struggled to find the right greeting, “you’re-- I’m happy you’re here! Can I buy you a drink?”

He exhaled, memorizing what he had just said. That was a firm, friendly line that he could deliver without screwing up. He could do it.

“I’m happy you’re here! Can I buy you a drink? I’m happy you’re here! Can I buy you a drink?” Pete echoed. His pacing lagged and became a sluggish rhythm of measured strides. “I’m happy you’re here, Patrick! Can I buy you a drink, Patrick? Damnit, no, don’t say his name twice! Gotta stick to the script: I’m happy you’re here! Can I buy you a drink?”

On his cell phone, he tapped on the Tinder icon. He went to Patrick’s profile and pretended to talk to the photos, continuing to rehearse his greeting. It was strange, and stranger that it calmed him to the point of no longer pacing. He crossed one leg behind the other and took in the photo’s finer details.

“Can’t wait.”

\---

At approximately 1:35, Patrick and Pete locked their respective apartments. The metal and sharp edges of the keys were like icicles in their grip. The temperature had managed to drop further than what it had been earlier in the morning, requiring them to bundle up in defense. Patrick had on his coat with the zipper fastened below his chin, Pete strapped into a windbreaker.

The weekend before Christmas meant that many people were tasked with last-minute mall adventurers. The bus stop for their street was packed with stressed shoppers. It wasn’t the best environment to mentally prepare for a date, an obscene amount of shoving and shouting doing nothing to set the mood. They had no choice in the matter, unfortunately, the coffee shop being miles away. When the bus creaked to its boarding position at the stop, the resulting clamor could have killed an inexperienced tourist or child.

Patrick sat at the rear and Pete sat at the front. Neither had taken notice of who they were sharing the ride with. They were both perfectly occupied via their cell phones - Patrick listening to music with his headphones and Pete logged into Tinder. Instantly, they were chatting with no more than ten feet between them.

_[Pete: On my way! I’ll try and survive, you wouldn’t believe how smushed I am in this bus.]_

_[Patrick: yeah, i left just now, too. i’m sure you’ll survive. if not, i guess we can call that fate.]_

_[Pete: Do you believe in fate? Do you think this is fate?]_

_[Patrick: ehhh, don’t get all existential on me.]_

_[Pete: Whoops!]_

_[Patrick: i’m joking. existentialism is cool, so is fate. i’d say i’m a believer.]_

_[Pete: I hope I can catch your sarcasm in real life._

_Irl, as the kids say.]_

_[Patrick: way to be hip, old man.]_

Pete chuckled. Thankfully, the trip from his apartment to the coffee shop was short. He watched a stream of passengers flow in and out of the vehicle, the automatic doors constantly unfolding and refolding. He heard the bus driver mutter a handful of complaints about unknown nuisances with every stop they made. The general tone of impatience seeped through his relaxed exterior, his jitters beginning to flare. He had to scroll among his social media apps for a steady distraction.

In the middle of writing a status update for Twitter, the overhead speakers announced that his desired destination was next. He stood, clinging to the railing above.

Patrick rose to his feet and tucked his cell phone securely in his back pocket. His earbuds remained in place, the wheels drifting to a halt. He unleashed a round of overly-courteous ‘Excuse me’s’ to help escape the horde of bodies that had blockaded him. As a pathway was cleared, he checked the time. It was ten minutes to two, excellent, he had made it with time to spare. In his departure, he followed the groove of the crowd and focused on the row of visible buildings. Bridgeport’s sign, neon silver and with the image of a steaming cup, was straight ahead.

Trotting down the powdery sidewalk, he flung open the door to find a rush of pleasantly warm air. He promptly went to the counter and asked the barista what the specialty lattes were. He always drank a latte, and the more interesting or diverse his flavor choices were, the happier he was. The barista listed their current offerings, and he settled on a honey lavender latte with extra foam. He paid, fed the tip jar, and went to find a chair. The thought of waiting for Pete and ordering their drinks together never occurred to him.

Liberated from the clutches of the bus, Pete paused to post his status update. He considered messaging Patrick to alert him that he was right outside, but changed his mind and put away his device. He figured finding him inside by sight alone would show how attentive and eager he was. At a table near the largest window, he took a seat. The heels of his Dr. Martens tapped the wooden flooring, the rubber soles caked with mud and scratches.

He was clueless to the fact that his date was behind him. 

Patrick, with his latte held tight, became concerned when their agreed time came and went. He glanced around, noting the emptiness. There wasn’t much aside from the barista who had served him and a group of studying school girls. The clock mounted on the menu board told him it was ten minutes past two. Shit. He hadn’t ever been in this type of situation, and he felt lost. His hesitation ultimately gave way and he took out his cell phone once again.

_[Patrick: i’m here. better hurry, someone else might snatch me.]_

_[Pete: You’re here? I’m sitting down by the big window!]_

Scrunching his brow in confusion, Patrick turned and realized that he was seated by the shop’s tallest, widest window. His stomach plummeted, pooling in his socks with the reluctant shift of his body. Just over his shoulder, he saw the man he had been talking with, _flirting_ with meet his gaze. They shared their first, dumbfounded look.

“Oh! Hey,” Pete chirped. He was beaming, the shock worn off.

“.. Hi.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I highly recommend that you listen to _Wedding Singer_ by the Modern Baseball either before you read this chapter or right when you start. It's a beautiful song that reminds Pete of Patrick ; D

Pete twisted and stood to join Patrick at his table. His excitement made him move abruptly, almost annoyingly so. Before taking a seat, he stuck out his hand, his practiced line bubbling forth, “I’m glad you’re here! Can I buy you a drink?”

“I,” Patrick faltered, one hand shaking Pete’s while the other held up the latte, “I'm fine. I bought this when I got here.”

“Ooh, my bad! I didn’t even see that. What’d you get?”

“It’s a latte. I think it has honey and lavender.”

“Nice. I’m gonna go grab a drink for myself, do you need anything else?”

“I’m okay, thanks.”

Pete nodded and gestured that he was headed to place an order at the counter. On his walk over, he replayed their very first, face-to-face conversation. Aside from his poor observational skills, he felt that he had done a solid job. Man, he wished he had shown up earlier, then he totally could have paid for Patrick’s drink! He inwardly chastised himself, his expression bright as he was welcomed by the barista. He ordered a plain black drip coffee, something that could be prepared in a matter of seconds, since he didn’t want to make his date wait. 

At their table, he sat in the empty chair and was quick to take the lead, “How are you? I know we were just talking, like, fifteen minutes ago, but how _are_ you?”

“I’m good. Better now that I have company,” Patrick said, thankful that they were at eye level. It was less intimidating this way. 

“Yeah?” Pete perked, a pause taken to remove his windbreaker. “I gotta say, though, this is super different from most first dates. But in a good way, ya know?”

“Definitely different,” Patrick agreed. Unconsciously, he followed Pete’s movements by shrugging off his coat and beanie. He tucked them into his lap and took a sip of his drink. “The best part is being able to skip all the ‘Do you have any pets?’ and ‘What do you do for work?’ questions.”

“Right? Small talk can be stressful.”

“Tell me about it. Most of my stress came from, uhhh, from how you would look. Watching _Catfish_ all those years probably had a negative impact on me, hah,” Patrick admitted with a half-chuckle.

Pete grinned and spread his arms, granting a more full view, “How do I hold up? Pretty as my pictures?”

Without being terribly obvious, Patrick looked him up and down. Or, at least, as much as he could in their seated position. This was undoubtedly the face, and body, of the man he had seen in the photos. He was relieved that Pete hadn’t been photoshopped to hide his age or acne or whatever, yet it was daunting to see how handsome he truly was. Especially with the wicked way those lips curved and how the tattoo around his collarbones was made visible by the hoodie’s low edges. How he presented himself, too, was nearly identical to his online persona. 

“Sure,” Patrick said playfully, not ready to give him the satisfaction of a direct compliment. “I’m a lucky guy.” 

“That’s funny, I could say the same for myself. You look way better than your pictures,” Pete said.

“Ouch, so I don’t take a good picture?”

“No, no, like--”

“I’m kidding. I know what you mean.”

After sharing a laugh, the jolt of nerves Pete had experienced died down. Patrick certainly had a sharp wit, and, for a moment there, he thought he had fucked up. In the real world, there wasn’t much of a chance to plan what to say prior to actually saying it. This wasn’t Tinder or his editing job where the words could float around his brain until they made the perfect amount of sense. There was a time constraint. He could only stall for so long before it was necessary to speak. Otherwise he would deemed antisocial or awkward.

Perhaps he could also blame his nerves on Patrick’s appearance. He was such a babe with that neatly tousled hair and that pointed, inexplicably mellow voice. Knowing that he had seen Patrick’s more provocative side, via their messages, and watching him here in public with his prim posture and shy demeanor - it was thrilling, like a secret between them that was dying to be released. Of course, he would keep his mouth shut about that. For now.

“So, Patrick,” Pete started, a gulp of coffee warming his throat, “I had a song come up on my Spotify today that reminded me of you. And I’ve been thinking about it all day!”

Patrick was interested, his tone brighter, “What song?”

“It was by this group called Modern Baseball.”

“Mmhm, I know them. You’ve got a good ear.”

“Does that mean you’re into them?”

“I’d say I’m pretty into them. What was the song, though?”

Pete tapped his chin in thought. He had remembered the band name, kudos to him, however, he couldn’t think of how the song went. Memorizing melodies wasn't a strong suit of his. With another gulp of coffee, he wondered if he could hum the bits and pieces for Patrick to put together. 

“It had this awesome guitar riff throughout the whole song, and, and there was this part.. 'Midnight rolls around'.. Nah, nah, nah.. 'Romance on your face'..” Pete sang, off-key and with his features focused.

Patrick’s second-hand embarrassment was painfully high, and he tried to end it, “Hang on, hang on. Pete, wait, hah, stop singing. It’s--”

“Then there’s other part, and it’s all.. Nuh, nah, nah, naaah.”

“Okay, I got it. Take a break there.”

“Cool! You know it?”

“Ha, yeah,” Patrick contained his amusement, “that song is called _Wedding Singer_. And the line you were looking for was ‘Romance across your face’, not ‘Romance on your face’.”

Pete listened, responding with, “ _Wedding Singer_ , I’ll remember that. Nice job at being so smart.”

“Sure. Why did you think of me when you heard it, anyway?”

“ ‘Cause of the guitar and how it made me feel. It was upbeat and stuff.”

“It kind of has mushy lyrics, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe I like that?”

Patrick smiled. It was his first genuine, vivid smile that he had given since they had met in person. He could hear the teasing affection, and could sense Pete leaning closer over the table. It was pure flattery to have been thought of in relation to such stellar music, even more so for a song that had romantic connotations to it. Unable to give a clever reply, he offered, “Congrats on having good taste. It’ll help you in the long run.”

“I’d say it’s Spotify with the good taste. Or what if it was the FBI agent in my phone?” Pete gasped, feigning shock. “He probably saw me chatting with you, looked up your info, and then added that song to my playlist!”’

“Spooky. Although, I wouldn’t doubt that you’re on some secret government list,” Patrick joked. He sipped his latte, the fragrant sweetness of the honey and lavender staining his tongue. 

“That must be why I can’t fly out of the state. Hey! Where was the last place you flew?” 

“Last place I flew? It was.. Seattle? Yeah, Seattle for a family vacation.”

Pete blinked at him, “Seattle’s a chill place. Did you have fun?”

“Eh,” Patrick breathed, “it was fine. My parents are divorced and they try to do these family vacations once in awhile.”

“That’s--”

“Shitty?”

“You said it, not me,” Pete said with his hands up in a temporary defense. A stray section of hair was tucked behind his ear, and he folded his arms, “Parents can be a pain sometimes. The last time I flew was with my parents, too. We went to my sister’s college graduation in New York.”

“That seems all right. What’d your sister major in?” Patrick asked, curious.

“Hah, she majored in civil engineering.”

“Does that mean she’s the golden child? Because you majored in the arts and she didn’t?”

“Bingo!”

\---

Bridgeport’s closing time was five o’clock sharp, and, at five o'clock sharp, they were the last two customers left in the shop. Their cups were as empty as the evening sky outside the window, their eyes full of each other. The caffeine high had been replaced with something else entirely.

They were scarcely able to usher themselves out of the building before the barista had to. 

Nestled beside one another outside, Pete began to fumble in his windbreaker’s pockets, saying, “I forgot my lighter. You got a spare?”

“What? You smoke?” Patrick’s inflection had become accusatory.

“Gotcha! I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” Pete laughed. He turned his pockets inside out for further proof. “I just wanted to see how freaked out you would be. You were about ready to punch me, huh?”

“Uhhh, I am now! You’re lame.”

“That’s fair. Blunts don’t count for your hatred of smoking, right?”

Patrick shook his head, his composed snarkiness returning, “Wouldn’t you like to know? I guess I can tell you all about it over a bite to eat. I’m starving.”

“I’m on board with that plan,” Pete said, hands occupying his pockets, “What are you in the mood for? There’s an IHOP one street over, ya know.”

“Mm.. I’ve never been to IHOP. I don’t really know what I’d get.”

“Fuck, you serious? That means we _have_ to go. And don’t worry about what to get, they have a huge menu.”

“Sounds gross.”

In spite of Patrick’s apparent revulsion, he trailed right behind Pete as he guided them to their destination. The weather had picked back up again with a steady wind and snow flurries. Creating footprints, they went around the coffee shop and onto the next street. It was a residential area, mostly condominiums, with an IHOP smack in the middle. Its boxy exterior and fluorescent lighting were hideous; the logo a signal to the hungry, desperate, and poor. They headed straight inside.

A hostess seated them at a booth near the front due to the majority of the restaurant being vacant. They chose to sit across from each other, menus turned to the first page and their heads down. The atmosphere was cozy, if not sticky with residual syrup. 

Patrick was at a loss, the extensive listing overwhelming him, “I have no idea what to get. This is insane, Pete.”

“Sorry,” Pete snickered. “If you trust me, I can order for you. We’ll get my usual. I promise it’ll be delicious.”

“Well, I wouldn’t trust you to save me from mortal danger or whatever, but I can trust you to order.”

“Awesome, leave it to me.”

Their waitress took their drink order, waters for both of them, and reappeared a minute later with two filled glasses. Once they were placed on the table, she took out her notepad, questioning, “Ready to order?”

“Yep,” Pete beamed. “We’ll have two orders of those cinnamon roll pancakes and two sides of hashbrowns. And can we get a ketchup bottle and a lil’ Tabasco bottle?”

“Two cinn-a-stack pancakes, two hashbrowns, ketchup, and Tabasco. Will that be all?” 

“That’s all, thank you.”

“We’ll have that out in about ten minutes.”

Watching the waitress leave, Patrick asked, “That’s your usual? What’s your thought process there?”

“Right now my thoughts are stuck on the phrase ‘Lil’ Tabasco’. Does that sound like a great rapper name or what?” Pete stretched, his arms behind his head.

“Wooow. I’ll pretend you didn’t say that.”

“I’ll remind you later.”

Their food arrived promptly. When the waitress made her exit, Pete jumped toward their hashbrowns, armed with the ketchup and Tabasco. He squeezed a glob of each condiment onto the plates, smearing it over the crispy potatoes in a frenzy. He stopped after he had mixed everything together, pushing Patrick’s half of the food to his side of the table. His enthusiasm poured over their meal, “It’ll be amazing. Go ahead, try it.”

“All right.” Patrick took a bite of the hashbrowns, washing it down with the pancakes. His eyebrows rose and he said, “Not bad. I get the salt and sugar combo, it’s tasty.”

Pete agreed through a mouthful. He swallowed, delighted, “I’m glad. I didn’t want to ruin your first time at IHOP. That’s a pretty crucial milestone.”

“I doubt that. I highly, highly doubt that”

“I can’t get over the fact that you’ve never been here. It’s a solid date spot.”

“Does that mean you take all your dates here?”

“Not a chance,” Pete said adamantly. “I haven’t been on a date in, probably, I dunno, in a year? A year-ish?”

Patrick failed to hide his surprise. To know that Pete hadn’t recently been with anyone was, to be honest, quite refreshing. It made him feel special, not that he would acknowledge it, and the positive vibes he was getting grew stronger. He couldn’t help wondering, “Why? I mean, what made you want to re-enter the dating scene?”

“Ah.. You know how it is. The holidays come around and it’s hard not feel lonely. I want someone to, to stay inside with during the snowstorms and to go pick out a Christmas tree with,” Pete told him, his fork and knife hovering above his pancakes. 

“Okay, I get that. It’s a classic case of seasonal thirst.”

“Thank God it’s not seasonal depression.”

“Close enough.”

They shared a smile. So far, their interactions had been smooth and easygoing. Patrick noticed the presence of his own bravery, and Pete noticed the absence of his own restlessness. They weren’t controlled by their faults. Still, they were on guard. Being themselves around a new person brought many challenges, and neither were ready to fully relax. Plus, their attraction added an extra level of difficulty. 

Soon, their spontaneous breakfast-for-dinner was finished and they continued babbling about what was on their minds, with bathroom breaks being their sole interruption. They discussed their work schedules for the week, pet peeves at the grocery store, their ice cream flavor preferences, and other bits of information that organically came up. They were enjoying how effortlessly their date had extended into the night. Or rather, they were until a seemingly random young man breezed by their table. He stopped at the sight of them. 

Pete strained his neck with how fast he spun, taken aback, “Phil? Hey, man, what’s good?”

“Oh, shit, I thought it was you,” Phil replied, accepting a fist bump. He removed his hoodie and scratched at his wispy goatee. “What’s up is I’m trying to get home. Who’s this?”

“What?” 

“Who’s this squirt you’re sitting with?”

The light bulb clicked on in Pete’s brain and he glanced at Patrick. Duh! Idiot! He stood and gestured with open palms, explaining, “Phil, this is Patrick, he’s a friend. Patrick, this is Phil, he and I used to work for the same newspaper.”

Patrick and Phil shook hands, a mutual disinterest on their faces. Their grip broke apart almost instantly.

Pete cut through, “What’d you say about trying to get home? What’s wrong?”

“Ugh, I got fucked by this junkie earlier,” Phil complained, “he mugged me and took my wallet. I don’t have my bus pass or any money to get back to my place. Happened just a minute ago. I came in here to use the bathroom..”

“Man, that’s crap.”

“Yup.”

“I only have my debit card and my own bus pass.. Wait, how about I use my pass for both of us? We’ll do a double-swipe, the driver won’t know!” Pete exclaimed, his confidence bursting forth.

“That’d be sick!” Phil cheered. “We can take the same route and everything. You still live by that dive bar? The one with the zebra stripes?”

“Yeah, man, I do.”

“Let’s go!”

Pete turned to Patrick, equipped with an apology and a suggestion for him to join. But he was cut off as he tried to speak.

“It’s okay,” Patrick said earnestly. “Really, I don’t mind if you leave now. It’s cute that you’re willing to help him out.”

“You sure?” Pete pressed, his fingers grazing Patrick’s knee for a moment.

“I’m sure.”

Pete went in to give him the briefest, tightest hug imaginable. The profound physical contact was much needed, and he swore that he heard a sigh of relief. He pulled away and whispered, “You’re the fuckin’ coolest. Message me when you get home safe.”

With that, Pete stood and dug two twenty-dollar bills from his wallet. He set them on the table with a wink. Phil tugged on his sleeve and they moved to head out. He waved, looking over his shoulder, “Bye!”

“Bye!” Patrick repeated. He waited for them disappear, sagging against the booth. Warmth soaked his spine, little tingles sliding along his skin.

It was odd that Phil had mentioned Pete living by a dive bar with zebra stripes. There was one in his neighborhood, too.


	6. Chapter 6

_[Pete: Merry Christmas!]_

_[Patrick: merry christmas to you, too. i’m guessing you must be having a terrible time with your family if you’re messaging me.]_

_[Pete: Haha, I swear I’m not! I just really wanted to message you : ) Whatchu doing?]_

_[Patrick: i’m drinking my second glass of eggnog and thinking about my third.]_

From where he sat in an armchair at his parents’ house, Pete let out a laugh. It was lovely to be able to hear Patrick’s _real_ voice in his head whenever he received a message from him. Fixing his screen’s brightness, he re-read the message. He could absolutely picture him standing around and chugging eggnog - maybe with a miniature santa hat on? Had he not been in such a rush when his father picked him up this morning, he may have caught a glimpse of Patrick taking out the trash. That way he would have known that he was wearing a festive pair of felted reindeer antlers, not a santa hat.

_[Pete: Alcohol in that eggnog or no?]_

_[Patrick: oh definitely alcohol. it’s the only way i can deal with my mom constantly asking when i’m going to bring home ‘ ‘ a nice boy ’ ’._

_[Pete: Can I be a nice boy who takes you out for drinks? Maybe for New Year’s?]_

_[Patrick: i think i can do that. how about 9 at house of blues? they’re having some local bands perform until midnight.]_

_[Pete: Awesome! And I promise I won’t bounce early like last time.]_

_[Patrick: i told you, that didn’t bother me. besides, we had had already hung out for like 5 hours at that point.]_

Pete wished he could have spent more time with Patrick that night, but he was comforted to know that he wasn’t being punished for his actions. Their date had been so enjoyable for him that he had spent the entire bus ride home telling Phil every last detail. He had been gushing like a giddy preteen, his words going a mile a minute and his eyes brimming with emotion. He was pretty sure everyone else on the bus had heard what he had to say, as well. 

That had been almost a week ago, and he was dying for date number two.

_[Pete: Thanks for being so understanding. Can I reward you with a Christmas present?]_

_[Patrick: mm? you gonna send me inappropriate shit at your parents’ house?]_

_[Pete: Yeah, I am because I took some solid pics yesterday. So don’t worry, I’m not undressing on my dad’s favorite armchair or anything.]_

_[Patrick: ew. i would hope not.]_

Opening his gallery, Pete scrolled through his recent photos. Last night, he had taken quite a few while wrapping gifts for his family. He had managed to keep his shirt on, although he had expressed his creativity by acting silly with the wrapping supplies. Most of the photos involved him with a gauzy ribbon tied into a loose bow around his neck, a gift tag sticking out on the side with the phrase ‘For That Special Someone’ printed on it. Additionally, his head was arched back against the arm of his couch and his face was perfectly exposed. It was erotic, if not playful.

He chose a photo that had caught him biting his lip, staring directly at the camera. He sent it before he could change his mind.

_[Pete: - Image -]_

_[Patrick: merry christmas indeed. you’re stunning.]_

_[Pete: If you say so, I think it’s sort of cheesy.]_

_[Patrick: no, i like it. the way you’re so_

_so_

_out there and willing to be open is great. it gets me all hot and bothered.]_

_[Pete: Oooh, does that mean you were hot and bothered on our date? I felt like I was more out there and open than usual because I was excited to see you.]_

_[Patrick: maybe a little. i’m gonna go ahead and say it’s a secret.]_

Pete peered up from his cell phone. His parents were in the kitchen, browsing the coupon section of the newspaper with the radio on, the family cat sleeping atop a stocking it had torn off the fireplace. His siblings were with their own respective significant others, and the house was fairly quiet overall. He figured no one would notice him indulging in an intimate conversation.

_[Pete: I’m not gonna lie here - if our next date goes well, I want to take you home.]_

_[Patrick: is that so? who said i’d be willing?]_

_[Pete: The way you’re talking to me implied something..]_

_[Patrick: sure, but i’d consider myself a classier than that. two dates seems too soon.]_

_[Pete: Okay, sorry, I was stupid and trying to be smooth. Don’t be mad!]_

_[Patrick: i’m not mad. let’s just have fun and see where things go.]_

Exhaling through his nose, Pete was disappointed by the response. He rearranged himself on the armchair, his socked feet tucked beneath his backside.

His disappointment didn’t stem from Patrick’s rejection, no, it was the naked maturity. Being the older of the pair, his lack of restraint was somewhat shameful. He shouldn’t be the one that’s overly-eager to jump into bed, especially if he wanted a long-term boyfriend. Stable foundations in relationships weren’t built overnight.

_[Pete: All right, I’ll do my best not to have too much fun.]_

_[Patrick: we can have fun, i’m just not into making plans for.. things to happen. organic is the way to go.]_

_[Pete: That’s fair, I guess. But what if I organically seduce you?]_

_[Patrick: i’ll have to be on the lookout, then.]_

Pete was cheered by what he read. He was grateful that he hadn’t scared him off, and was eager to hear that he was open to his advances. Perhaps he needed to tone himself down when they were face-to-face; because, according to the evidence, there was no issue with how forward he was with the photos within their text conversations. It was the in person flirting that was tough for Patrick.

_[Pete: Cool. So I’ll see you New Year’s Eve at House of Blues?]_

_[Patrick: at around 9, yeah. here, let me give you my number in case i can’t find you. it’s gonna be packed]_

_[Pete: For real?]_

_[Patrick: i think it’s time we stop communicating through tinder. kinda trashy, isn’t it?]_

\---

“Fuck,” Pete gave a soft wolf-whistle, “I didn’t know we were supposed to dress up. You’re killin’ me with that tie.”

Patrick checked his tie, the skinny black fabric snug under his blazer, and shook his head, “It’s not a big deal. I’m a little fancy, so what?”

“I feel unfancy - sorry, I don’t think that’s a word - and I don’t want anyone to think I bought you or anything.”

“You’re fine. You know, _fine_ fine.”

Pete felt a blush sting his cheeks, pleased to have his date’s approval. His outfit was a standard pair of fitted jeans and a long-sleeved shirt covered by his windbreaker. The only standout piece was his scarf, a plaid pattern woven tightly into knitted wool. Had he known that Patrick was going to show up wearing semi-formal attire, he would have done the same. He chalked that up to a lack of communication and made a mental note for next time. It was bold to assume that they would go out again, yet he couldn’t help himself, grinning, “Thanks!”

“Should we head inside?” Patrick asked, folding his arms when a gust of wind blew by. He masked the joy caused by Pete's grin and shifted to a colder disposition by default. “You didn’t have to wait outside for me.”

“I just wanted to make sure I could find you. But yeah, let’s head in.”

“ ‘Kay.”

At the door, they paid the cover charge of eight bucks a pop. The bouncer, who was much more interested in the bachelorette party that was next in line, shot them a glare and shooed them inside. 

The House of Blues was flecked with golden, silvery decor for the New Year’s celebration. Streamers and banners declaring ‘HAPPY 2019’ coated the ceiling, balloons anchored to speakers and bottlecaps already sparkling on the floor. The main stage held a jazz band that was jamming to their own beat. Their metallic instruments seemed to unintentionally garnish the design of the event. There was a thick crowd spread in front of the band, many people sporting glittery party hats or bobbing their head to the music. It was as inviting as it was frightening.

The instant Pete saw where the bar was, he proposed, “Drinks on me? What’re you having?”

“Uhhh.. wine,” Patrick said.

“Why?”

“ _Wine_.”

“No,” Pete chuckled, realizing that he had been misheard in the venue’s buzz, “I asked _why_? Why do you want wine?”

Patrick was confused, “I don’t usually do mixed drinks or shots or whatever. Why, what are you having?”

“Oh, heh, I was gonna get a vodka soda.. Would you do a shot with me later, though?”

“Maybe. Get me that wine first, anything white is fine, and I’ll go stake out a spot for us to stand.”

Pete obeyed, bounding toward the bar area. The line was several customers deep, and he fumbled with the stray bills in his pocket during the wait. Once it was his turn, he exchanged pleasantries with the bartender and hid his horror at the ridiculous prices. Worse, he didn’t want to take forever gathering his change and balancing the drinks, so he told the bartender to take the change as a tip. He found his way back to Patrick, dodging tipsy college kids and careful not to spill a single drop.

Patrick, relaxed to be in a familiar place without having to order his own drink, had chosen a less cramped area to the far left of the stage. The music had intrigued him, and his attention was diverted from relocating Pete. This led to him being startled when there was a nudge on his shoulder, and he whipped around, “Excuse-- Pete, hey, there you are. Here, I’ll take that, thanks.

“No problem,” Pete said, releasing the wine into Patrick’s grip. He raised his own drink and edged toward him. “Cheers?”

“Aren’t we supposed to do that at midnight?”

“This’ll be practice.”

“Sure.”

They clinked their glasses and drank. It was done quickly, since holding a full glass to one’s lips was a vulnerable position and they didn’t want to gamble being bumped into. Just as they finished, the crowd interrupted into a thunderous clap and the jazz band announced that this was the last song of their set. More clapping.

Patrick swirled his wine, his voice raised to match the noise level, “Any resolutions for the new year?”

“Not really.. Do you have any?” Pete had bit back the urge to make a comment about a new relationship to kick off the new year. He couldn’t say for certain how Patrick would take that, remembering their text conversation about not making specific plans for what would happen between them. He kept his mouth shut.

“Eh, not exactly. Does asking for a raise at work count?”

“It totally does, haha!”

“Yeah, money sucks,” Patrick sighed. He wasn’t living paycheck to paycheck, however, he wasn’t rolling in cash at the moment, either. He then backpedaled, hating to complain, “Not that I can’t pay for things right now. I can always split the bill with you.”

Pete beamed, “That’s cool, I appreciate it. But I don’t mind paying for you, like with drinks and stuff. Speaking of which, I call dibs on paying for the next three rounds.”

“.. I’ll only agree to that because I know I won’t have three more rounds.”

“Sounds good!”

\---

Twenty minutes from midnight, they were feeling drained. Sweat oiled their scalps with their feet aching in their shoes. Drinking, chatting, and swaying to music was a workout, particularly when they were trying their damndest to be oh-so-casually charming. Plus, keeping up their social posture was exhausting. That meant no shouting at the drunk fool who spilled tequila right beside them and politely saying ‘Excuse me’ each and every time they needed to get by someone. Having manners sucked sometimes.

It was a struggle that each endured for the other’s sake. And upon hearing the master of ceremonies remind the partygoers to find their partner for the New Year’s kiss, their stress levels skyrocketed.

Pete turned to see Patrick’s reaction to this, and was greeted by the back of his head. The shorter man was staring in a different direction. He returned to meet Pete’s gaze after his arm was tapped.

“Hm?” Patrick responded.

“Did you, like, did you hear what he said?” Pete pointed to the stage, where the master of ceremonies was hyping the next band. He anxiously ran his fingers over the rim of his drink. “About midnight?”

“No,” Patrick lied. He had purposefully avoided looking at Pete during the announcement, wincing at the thought of kissing in public. A first kiss, no less.

“Ah, forget it.”

“Can do.”

Internally, Pete was grasping at straws. He felt clueless and unprepared. He was amazed that he had been gutsy enough to tell Patrick that he wanted to take him home. That was a million miles away from this moment. Apparently, he also had issues with flirting in the real world. What was he going to do? Should he take a risk and go for it? Should he ask permission in the middle of the count down? He couldn’t make a decision, and time was literally not on his side. 

“I don’t know if I told you,” Pete’s voice was close as he took Patrick’s free hand with his own, testing the waters, “but I have the most handsome date here. Possibly in the whole city tonight.”

Patrick smiled, “I could say the same. Tonight’s been fun.”

Pete’s reply was lost in the shuffle of people around them, barely holding onto Patrick. They were forcibly floated further to the left side until they were able to brush the wall. Everyone was electric with anticipation for the clock to strike twelve and for the oncoming rock trio. They were the concluding band and had a large local following, hence the sudden shoving mixed with applause, and they promised to bring the house down. They burst into song and were met with a roar of support. The lead singer howled at the microphone, the lyrics commanding energy and excitement.

“Don’t worry,” Patrick said, pinching his thumb against Pete’s nearest knuckle, “we don’t have to move back to where we were before. This spot’s good.”

“We can’t see the stage, though,” Pete fussed, happy that their hands remained intertwined.

“Pete--”

“I don’t want you to miss seeing the countdown.”

“We’ll still be able to hear it.”

“That’s true,” Pete soon relented. “It’d probably be too hard to push through everyone, anyway.”

“Mmhm,” Patrick hummed. From where they were currently standing, there were less wandering eyes and fresher air. It gave a greater impression of safety that he was more open to embracing. Since there was no escape from the building prior to the event being over, this would have to do. He was painfully aware of how fast midnight was approaching, and of course he knew what was expected of couples. His timid tendencies had demanded him to ignore it until right fucking now. He wanted them to have a New Year’s kiss, he seriously did, it was just such an enormous leap. And despite him believing that he could do it, the fact that they basically had an audience was freaking him out.

In the final minutes before saying hello to 2019, they huddled together and watched last year slip away. Spotlights and the flames of various lighters dotted the crowd, filling the venue with a toasty glow. On the stage, a screen projector displayed the countdown above the band while performing the finale. At the wall and with the stage beyond their line of sight, they had to rely on chanting cries of those who had a better view. It was a deafening experience. 

“TEN, NINE, EIGHT..”

Pete moved in front of Patrick, his body shielding him and his forehead gently pressed to the one opposite of him. There was no resistance, and he went to stroke that pretty little tie.

“SEVEN, SIX, FIVE..”

Breathless, Patrick allowed himself to be cornered and touched. He appreciated Pete taking the lead and prayed that nothing would go wrong.

“FOUR, THREE, TWO..”

They were a tad early, but they held their kiss through the onslaught of noise and confetti.


	7. Chapter 7

Patrick was content to know that there was some chemistry between himself and Pete. He had suspected there would be, via text conversations, but it was reassuring to have it confirmed. Their two dates had been sealed with a kiss, after all. Something that he couldn’t stop thinking about.

The worst part was that his coy attitude had begun to fade. How could he keep it up when he had made his attraction so obvious? 

“Don’t,” Patrick huffed as he swatted Pete’s hand away. The taller boy had reached across the table for whatever reason, invading Patrick’s personal space. “What’re you doing?”

“Oh, you have some sugar on your cheek,” Pete explained. He had retracted his hand, his fingers now at the edge of their shared cannoli plate. 

“So?”

“I wanted to wipe it off for you?”

Patrick brushed over the area that had been reached for. He felt the sugar and dusted it away, embarrassed. Though it was endearing that Pete had tried to help, he didn’t appreciate being touched so openly in public. Their New Year’s kiss had been an exception due to a mix of adrenaline, alcohol, and everyone’s attention on the celebration. Sitting here in the middle of an Italian deli was a completely different situation. It was too visible. He cleared his throat, readjusting it to a more even tone, “Thanks, I got it.”

“You’re welcome,” Pete chirped. He noticed Patrick’s aggressive rubbing on his cheek had created a reddish flush, bright against that pale skin. He thought it was cute. “You know what I was thinking about last night?”

“What? How lucky you are to get a third date?” Patrick taunted. He picked up another cannoli and carefully bit into it.

“Well, duh.. I also was wondering how you would look in glasses.”

“That’s.. Why? I used to wear glasses.”

“I bet you were a sight to behold. Hey, a pun! A _sight_ to behold.”

Patrick crinkled his nose and swallowed his current bite, “Hm. I looked dorky, trust me. I switched to contacts about two years ago.”

“Is that really the only reason?” Pete pressed, his mind flooded with how splendid a pair of thick, square lenses would be on his date. He was into that nerdy aesthetic.

“Yeah. They’re shitty for the weather here, too. Rain and snow gets stuck on them and then you can’t see.”

“Aww.”

“What’s with the ‘aww’? Why were you thinking about this, anyway?” Patrick asked. He paused in his eating, the dessert held tight.

“Because, I dunno,” Pete shrugged, “I like to think about you. You just pop up in my mind a lot and I don’t fight it.”

“.. Swear?”

“ _Swear_.”

Figuring that he didn’t have any choice aside from taking Pete’s word for it, Patrick welcomed the compliment with a nod. He finished his cannoli and pushed the plate, with a single one left, toward his date. Their shared afternoon snack was winding down, and the evening chill was overtaking the city. The deli’s shabby slate roof barely protected them from the plummeting temperatures outside. It was Thursday, and neither of them had been home since leaving for work that morning. They had been chatting throughout the day and had realized that their shifts ended at around the same time, making for a legitimate excuse to see each other. Initially, they had settled on nothing more than grabbing a bite to eat. With no plans made for what they would do next, the end of their meal signaled uncertainty. 

Pete decided to take the plunge, unable to manage the tension, “You said you don’t have work tomorrow, right?”

“It’s my day off, yeah,” Patrick answered. Under the table, he crossed his legs and flexed his toes in his boots.

“Awesome! I’m jelly.”

“Errr, is that short for jealous?” 

“Yep. Anyway, do you want to, like, come over?” Pete had a nervous jolt in his heart, noticing Patrick stiffen at the question. “We could watch a movie and eat snacks. And if we run out of snacks, I could order take out?”

Patrick remained rigid, his head slightly bowed, “That sounds.. nice. How far is your place from here?”

“About a half hour by bus, if you count that inevitable five minute waiting period.”

“But which direction is it?”

“It’s south of here, it’s basically in Ashburn. Right off of 79th and Richmond, so--”

“What?” Patrick interrupted. The surprise in his expression was apparent, his previous composure lost. “ _That’s_ where you live?”

Pete, taking this reaction as one of disgust, offered, “It’s not the best area, I know. I’ll keep you safe, though.”

“No, you-- 79th and Richmond?”

“You got it.”

“I’m, _I’m_ living there, too. I’m at Hillbridge Estates,” Patrick said, skepticism stuck to his words. He never would have guessed that they lived in the same neighborhood, much less at the same cross streets! It was a strange, tantalizing thought. Shit. Now that he had this information, he realized that they hadn’t actually explained the finer details of where they lived. In keeping his address a secret for safety reasons, he had made himself oblivious to the fact that they were neighbors. He shook his head, adding, “Oh my God - you’re not living there, are you? At Hillbridge?”

“Nah, I’m at Ashburn Gardens across the street from you.. But..” Pete was astounded and desperately wanting to keep his cool. This was like a dream, except with the smell or marinara floating around and a grumpy Italian man working the register. He bit his lower lip as his stomach did a giddy flip. They lived so close to one another, they could walk right over! Even in a blizzard! He smiled, “Pretty crazy, huh?”

Patrick blinked, “Definitely crazy. Pete, I can’t believe..”

“.. Does this mean you’re still coming over?”

“Uhm, if you’re okay with it?”

“Yeah, I’m down,” Pete chimed. He cupped his chin with his right palm, practically entranced. 

“Boy,” Patrick puffed, feeling graceless and exposed, “at least I know what I’m walking into.”

“What d’ya mean?”

“I went on a tour of your apartment complex a while back when I was looking for a place to live. That one bedroom floor plan should look familiar.”

\---

The bus ride home, and it truly was _home_ for both of them, was filled with more discussions of disbelief and shared stares. They sat in the front seats, involuntarily communicating their anticipation to hop off and run inside. Being in such cramped conditions, it was difficult to resist each other’s warmth. When the bus eventually rolled to its designated spot at their cross streets, their hands had locked and made a nest in Patrick’s coat pocket. They hurried past the driver and braced for the frosty night air. 

“C’mon,” Pete said, leading the way. “I don’t want you to get sick.”

“It’s not that bad,” Patrick replied, though it was lost in an assault of sharp gusts. His mouth puckered at the icy sting and he dreaded his lips being a cracked, dry mess by the time they reached their destination. Trailing at the rear, he discreetly grabbed his chapstick and applied a thin layer.

Past the gate of Ashburn Gardens and up three flights of stairs, Pete yanked out his keys and unlocked the door for apartment 399. He shut it behind them and switched on the lights. Once he had instructed that there was a rule banning footwear inside, he cranked the thermostat and asked, “You thirsty? I’ve got coffee and hot chocolate. Or, like, water?”

“Do you have mini marshmallows?” Patrick wondered, removing his beanie while trying not to gawk at the apartment. It was stylish and well-kept in a way that put him somewhat at ease.

“Why would I have that? Oh, for the hot chocolate! No, I don’t. Can we substitute with whipped cream?” Pete’s question drifted as he headed toward the kitchen area. With a yawn, he dropped his windbreaker and scarf on a wall hook.

“Sure,” Patrick chuckled before following him.

“Here, pick out mugs for us from that top cabinet.”

“You’re having some, too?”

“Well, yeah, I don’t want to be rude. Drinking hot chocolate alone in someone else’s home doesn’t seem like very much fun.”

Patrick agreed and went to the cabinet that had been pointed out. He opened it and found plenty of mugs to choose from. The array of ceramic was smooth to the touch, the various colors and patterns bright in the fluorescent lighting. For himself, he selected a mug with a cartoon rendition of Elvis on the side, and, for his gracious host, he selected a mug with the Millennium Falcon flying through the galaxy. He carried them away from the cabinet and set them in an empty space next to the sink. The mugs clinked onto the granite, his ears perking at the sound.

“Perfect,” Pete said upon seeing the chosen mugs. He had freed the cap on a fresh gallon of milk and was tearing open packets of the hot chocolate mix. “How ‘bout you go make yourself comfy on the couch? I’ll bring this out to you, it shouldn’t be more than a couple minutes.”

In the living area, Patrick made an effort to look natural. It wasn’t that he felt unsafe here, not at all, he simply didn’t know what to do. Being in a new place with a person that he had a budding romance with was mildly terrifying. Even more intense were the unspoken connotations that came with them ending the night at the small, private setting of the apartment. He faltered for a moment, panicking. Hadn’t he been the one to claim that he wasn’t the type to go home with his dates so soon? That conviction had flown out the fucking window. He blamed it on how odd these particular circumstances were. He had to.

In the end, he sat warily on the edge of the couch with his beanie and coat folded on the arm. 

“And here we go,” Pete said with the Elvis mug presented to his guest. It had taken a heaping five minutes, but the results were worth it. The hot chocolate was covered by a delightful swirl of whipped cream and its peak was dusted with cocoa powder. His own mug was identical, snug in his grip. 

“Wow, this looks great,” Patrick accepted the drink. He suppressed a shudder when he made contact with the heated ceramic, his palms still not thawed from their trek through the cold. 

Pete sat with a few inches separating them, noting, “Just for you. But I totally knew you were a hot chocolate kind of guy.”

“How’d you know?”

“My eyes are a chocolatey brown, and I’ve caught you staring a couple of times.”

“Such the detective,” Patrick said sarcastically. He was suddenly very interested in his drink, taking a sip and avoiding the whipped cream catching his nose. Its velvety sweetness swept along his throat, and he peered into the mug to examine the color. Right. He supposed it wasn’t dissimilar to Pete’s eyes.

Pete’s grin was hidden as he slurped, licking away any excess before he asked, “Do you think we can see your apartment from here? Wanna check?”

“Okay.” Patrick, glad to escape further mockery, shifted to look out the window. The curtains were partially drawn to create a view to the outside world, with Hillbridge Estates parallel to where they were. Unfortunately, a soft shower of snow flurries was obstructing the majority of the view. His eyebrows furrowed, and he grumbled, “This weather is ridiculous. You can probably see my place when it’s not negative whatever degrees out.”

“Ah, good to know,” Pete said. He turned back to his hot chocolate, slurping and silently congratulating himself on a delicious job well done.

Patrick adjusted his position, now cross-legged on the cushions. He scanned the living area, hoping to find a conversation starter. Beyond the paisley rug at their feet and near the string of fairy lights hung up on the far wall, there was a cluttered desk. Although, the clutter wasn’t overwhelming or unnecessary. It appeared to be a work desk. Its pine finish was adorably rustic, almost inviting, and its left corner was piled high with folded newspapers. He gestured to the pile, “What’s with all the newspapers?”

Pete turned, shrinking their gap in the process, “They’re from my work. Whenever the Daily Journal published a story of mine on the front page, I saved it. Hah, it sounds kinda uncool when I say it out loud, but yeah, that’s why I have them.”

“Each one of those has a front page story written by you?” Patrick was impressed. He brought up his mug for a second taste, savoring a lengthy sip.

“Basically. I mean, they were edited by me.”

“Maybe I’ll have to get a subscription and look for your name? Then I can tease you about stuff.”

“Nooo,” Pete howled dramatically, flopping his free hand over his forehead. His stretching motions caused him to pop his spine, the bottom hem of his shirt lifting to reveal the elastic waistband of his briefs and a strip of bare stomach. “That would stress me out to the extreme.”

Patrick watched him, his gaze glued to that lean form. Wandering below, he soon snapped his attention forward, not expecting to see those intimate details. Undergarments and naked flesh in photos was one thing, while having it directly beside him in real life was something else entirely. He coughed and drained more than half of his mug’s contents. This was met with a gulp, his mind racing and forgetting what they had been talking about, “W-Wait, what would stress you out?”

“Like, if you were reading articles that I had edited,” Pete said. 

“Right, ehe, I was joking.”

“Don’t worry, I know. Only old folks read the newspaper.”

Pete had regained his normal posture and was studying Patrick. It was suspicious how fiercely the younger man clutched his mug, and how he had stuttered. At least, that’s what he thought. He didn’t want to push him too far out of his comfort zone, but, of course, he was already doing that for himself. He took in a breath, “Patrick?”

“Mm?” Patrick failed to hold eye contact. He glanced down, then up, then down again. 

“I really like you.”

“.. I do, too.”

“And you know,” Pete moved to rest his mug on the coffee table, keeping it a safe distance from his laptop, “you’re the only person I’m talking to. I’m not going on other dates or anything.”

Patrick’s chest fluttered and he forced his voice to remain steady, “That’s good, because I’m doing the same thing. I haven’t opened Tinder since the last time we chatted on there.”

“Fuck, that makes me so happy! I’m always scared someone’s gonna steal you..”

“Not likely.”

Delicately, Pete plucked Patrick’s mug from his hold and situated it on the coffee table. After rearranging against the cushions, he snuck one hand onto that warm, supple waist. A split-second pause with zero opposition told him that he was in the clear. Their proximity made him ripe with apprehension, his nose twitching at Patrick’s scent of earthy vanilla. Bowing his head, he noticed that Patrick had shut his eyes. He wanted to tell him that there was no need to be shy. Instead, he counted his blessings.

Pete nudged him with his lips, a peck pressed to the corner of his mouth, “You’re beautiful. I swear, that’s the best way I can put it.”

“Thank you,” Patrick murmured. His eyes opened wide enough to be mistaken for a sultry stare. “I, I want to say something nice about you, but I’m blanking.”

“Hey, I understand. You can just..”

“Yeah..?”

Pete kissed him. He had tilted his head to have a better angle, craving the full effect of those plump lips, and he was absolutely not disappointed. His hand stayed at Patrick’s waist, though he had begun to squeeze him. Not too roughly, not too tenderly. The kiss progressed into a series of quick smacks, each one a burst of tickling excitement. It set the stage for a deeper physical connection. 

“Lemme--” Pete whispered, his tongue hungry to push past Patrick’s lips.

“Hang on--” Patrick whispered in return. He was going to try and climb in Pete’s lap, if he could get a chance to curb these kisses. “Can I--?”

“You can, mmpf, you can do _anything_ , baby.”

“ _Whoa_!”

Patrick’s exclamation had nothing to do with Pete’s suggestion, rather, it was the fact that they had been immersed in darkness. It happened in an instant. The overhead light, kitchen light, and fairy lights had flickered off. They stopped, pupils dilating in the sheer blackness surrounding them. A temporary fear washed over them and they grasped each other by fistfuls of clothes and hair.

“What’s going on?” Patrick hissed with flecks of saliva spraying forth. 

“I think,” Pete wiped the side of his face, “the power went out. I guess there’s a storm?”


	8. Chapter 8

“The power’s out?” Patrick echoed. He was still halfway into Pete’s lap, his neck straining to catch a glimpse out the window. “God, it’s pitch black. The whole block must be affected.”

Pete continued to hold him at the waist, asking, “Is this, like, too much for you? We can stop, if you want.”

“We.. I..”

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’. Here, let me get up and I’ll find some light.”

Patrick allowed himself to be shifted onto the couch, his backside pressed to the cushions. Immediately, he crossed his legs and folded his arms over his stomach. He then felt Pete stand and fumble around for something. They were squinting a moment later, Pete’s cell phone flashlight illuminating the space between them. 

“This’ll work for now. But my battery is gonna die in the next half hour, especially with this flashlight draining it and no working outlets,” Pete said. He vaguely waved his free hand around, his expression a bit troubled. “How’s your battery?”

Patrick pulled his cell phone from his front pocket and checked the percentage. He frowned, “A little less than fifty percent. I used it a ton at work today..”

“Well, if you’re up for it, I can go try and find some candles?”

“Sure-- Pete, I don’t want you to think that I’m in a hurry to get out of here. I’m fine.”

Pete smiled and nodded. He was relieved that his date was feeling at ease after the initial shock of what had happened. As he disappeared into the kitchen, quite literally with how dark the apartment had become, there were sounds of furthered fumbling through cabinets and drawers. 

Alone for the time being, Patrick uncrossed his legs. There were undoubtedly marks on his inner thighs, a result of the pinching denim's grasp forming wrinkles. The pressure he had been applying by crushing his legs together had helped to fight his budding hard on. It had been months since he had kissed anyone, much less anyone who he deemed appealing enough to go home with on the third date. Needless to say, his excitement had had erupted from the first caress of their lips. He exhaled and was grateful for the lack of visibility. 

“So good news and bad news,” Pete announced upon his return, the cell phone continuing to shine in his grip. “The bad news is that I have exactly zero candles, and the good news is that I remembered why we came over here in the first place - to watch movies! My laptop is pretty much fully charged, and I have a couple movies downloaded.”

“Are you saying we use the laptop as a light source?” Patrick questioned with a small laugh.

“Yep!”

“I can support that plan, yeah.”

“Sweet,” Pete cheered. He walked to the coffee table and placed the cell phone with the flashlight facing upward. “Give me a sec. Oh! Do you want to be on the floor instead? We can do a pillow and blanket type of thing.”

Patrick was charmed, already imagining how it would look, “Let’s do it. Bring me what we need and you can pick the movie.”

Pete obliged, tossing down the few pillows and single blanket from the couch. He decided they needed more and hurried to his room. The cell phone light was left behind for his guest to be able to see, and he blindly poked around his bed to gather more materials. He dropped everything at the foot of the coffee table when he re-entered the living area, since their cozy fort was being built between it and the wall. Next, he picked up his laptop, thinking aloud, “Most of what I have is either a comedy or an action adventure.. I know it’s not a lot of choices, but do you have a preference?”

“I like comedies, can we do that? Which movies do you have?” Patrick was busy with his given task, arranging the bundle of fluffy supplies. He had stretched out a layer of blankets on the floor and was stacking pillows in a protective half-circle around them.

“I have,” Pete scrolled through his downloads, “Forgetting Sarah Marshall.. Mean Girls.. Stepbrothers..”

“I’ve definitely seen all of those way too many times,” Patrick replied, not realizing how impolite he may seem.

“That’s about it, sorry. Wait! I have Superbad, too.”

“What’s that?”

Pete was ready to fly out of his seat, his eyes wide, “You’ve never seen Superbad!? It’s got Michael Cera and Jonah Hill as these two high school kids and they’re, like, trying to get laid and they do a ton of crazy stuff to make it happen.”

“I haven’t seen it. And I’m assuming it’s really amazing from how you’re reacting?” Patrick sat up in the midst of his work, staring at him. 

“It’s the _best_.”

“Then get over here.”

Craddling the laptop, Pete placed it between the two largest pillows, where they would be laying, nearly knocking Patrick over in the process. He apologized and went to grab their hot chocolates from the table. The mugs had lost the majority of their heat and he decided to head into the kitchen to blast them in the microwave, continuing to use the flashlight app to see the numbers. He soon remembered that he power was out, duh, and returned to tell Patrick what an idiot he was. With a quiet apology, returned the mug to its respective owner.

“It's okay. Thanks anyway,” Patrick said with the drink now held close. He was snuggled beneath the top blanket, its thick fuzziness covering every inch of him aside from his head and shoulders.

“I tried,” Pete beamed. His own hot chocolate was holding onto its final bit of warmth and demanding that he sit down and enjoy it. However, he hesitated, adding, “Oops, did you want snacks? I can get some if you want. I have chips and beef jerky - do you want any?”

“I’m good, I promise.”

“Okay.”

Pete switched off his cell phone’s flashlight once he had joined Patrick, the laptop’s glare bright against their faces. He left a bit of breathing room for them, but not so much that they weren’t within reach of one another. His fingers were poised above the keyboard in preparation for hitting the play button. 

“By the way,” Patrick said abruptly, “I’m the type of person who doesn’t talk during movies. I usually just sit and watch.”

Pete gave him a look of agreement, “Gotcha. I’ll behave.”

“Mmhm, that’s believable.”

\---

At the end of the movie, Pete could hardly contain himself. He was bubbling with questions and opinions and his favorite quotable lines. The instant the credits began to roll, he sang, “Sooo? What’d ya think?”

“I liked it. I felt like I related to Evan,” Patrick said. Pushing his empty mug further away, he stretched. The power still hadn’t been restored, and the glow of the laptop continued to be their only source of light. “He was awkward in a way that wasn’t annoying or creepy, he was truly an out of place person, and I get that.”

“Damn, did it-- Did it hit too close to home?”

“No. I thought it was funny and insightful.. You probably didn’t hear me laughing because you were laughing too hard.”

“Hah,” Pete chuckled, his features sheepish for a moment. “My bad. It’s funny how you relate to Evan, because I one hundred percent relate to Seth. At least, high school me relates to him. All loud and making jokes for attention, yep, that was me. It’s weird because he and Evan are total opposites, but they’re best friends and love each other a lot, I think.”

“Opposites attract, isn’t that what they say?”

Pete scooted in, perching a hand on the side of Patrick’s head, “That’s true. It’s because you need someone to even you out, or else life’s gonna be boring.”

“What do you mean?” Patrick leaned into the touch. Laying on their sides, elevated by pillows and swathed in blankets, it reminded him of being in bed. Which he wasn’t complaining about.

“Like.. If you’re with someone who’s exactly the same as you, they’ll always agree with you and there’ll be no room for fights. There won’t be any excitement,” Pete said. His hand began to move, dirty blonde hair gliding around his fingers.

“Pete, are you saying that arguments are fun?”

“Huh? No way! I mean that when you’re with someone that has a different perspective than you, it can lead to cool adventures while learning from that other person.”

“I see,” Patrick said. It was his turn to reach a hand up, catching Pete’s cheek. The warm skin he found was free of stubble, the bronzy undertones perfectly alluring. He flicked his wrist and made a swirling motion, his knuckles making contact. “Like in the movie, right? They wouldn’t have had that whole journey if they would have agreed on everything in the first place.”

“Yeah, and I think the ending scene did an awesome job of showing that. You know, where they were laying in Seth’s basement? They were being real with each other about their friendship and they hugged it out, such a good moment. That has to be my favorite scene,” Pete said, indulging in the tiny trails Patrick’s knuckles were making against his cheek. 

“An iconic bromance, without a doubt.”

“Heh.. What was your favorite scene?”

Pretending to be nonchalant, Patrick shrugged, “I’d have to go with the one where Evan was serenading the crackheads. The way it played out for him to even get to that point was ridiculously clever.”

“Wow, I feel like that says a lot about your character,” Pete commented, a grin emerging across his face as he recalled Michael Cera snapping along to a made up tune to please a group coked-out bullies. “I pick the heartfelt scene, and you pick the hilarious one.”

“It _is_ a comedy.”

“Oh, c’mere.”

Pete gingerly held Patrick by the roots of his hair, pushing his head forward and guiding their lips to meet. He moved in quickly, not wanting to show an ounce of uncertainty. Adrenaline bounced through his system as the kiss was reciprocated and felt the back of his neck squeezed in response. He tasted hints of chapstick and hot chocolate, and he craved a stronger flavor. He remembered earlier how Patrick hadn’t given in so easily, and he went for the respectful route, “Tongue’s okay?”

“Yes,” Patrick said, sounding formal and slightly alarmed. He didn’t know why Pete was asking him that, and he hoped that he hadn’t done something wrong. The claws of insecurity scratched at the edges of his mind, and he grappled with what to do. He opened his mouth to create incentive and he promptly regretted it, their front teeth gnashing together. A gasp of an apology followed, “Sorry, I, I didn’t mean to!”

“No, ahhh, it was my fault, too. Don’t worry,” Pete told him, sitting up and rubbing his teeth. It had been a surprisingly painful mishap, but he wasn’t about to admit to or be affected by it.

“I’m an idiot, I suck at this kind of thing.”

“Don’t say that. If anything, just aim lower next time and bite my lip.”

Patrick covered his eyes with his hands, now flat on his back, “Pete, you don’t have to say shit to make me feel better.”

Pete ignored the fussing and went to reposition himself. He hovered above him, palms and knees on either side of Patrick’s body with his voice low, “I want to make you feel better. I _want_ to make you feel happy and comfortable.”

“I’m--”

With a dazzling flicker, the apartment flooded with light. Outside, the streetlamps buzzed to life and several dogs united in a chorus of howls. The power had resurged after almost three hours, and they were left blinking in confusion.

Patrick was disappointed in the whole situation, asking, “Can you.. leave on the fairy lights? I like those. Everything else you can turn off.”

“As you command,” Pete said with a short bow. He lifted away from Patrick and hopped to his feet.

“I didn’t mean for that to sound so bossy.”

“I know, I’m teasing you.”

Pete bustled around the apartment, the thermostat checked to ensure it was at the proper temperature before the overhead and kitchen lights were extinguished. Being away from the warmth of their nest caused him to shiver, and he hurried back. He dove into the blankets, saying, “We survived a blackout! I think that means some celebratory cuddling is in order?”

Patrick complied and slipped into Pete’s arms, his words chosen thoughtfully, “My dumbass introverted personality can get the better of me, and I get freaked out over nothing. It makes me mad, it seriously does. I know that us knocking our teeth isn’t a huge deal, it can just feel that way.”

“That makes sense. I like to laugh those things off, but if you need to,” Pete searched for the correct phrasing, “if you need to recuperate, let me know. Getting used to someone new isn’t always sunshine and daisies.”

“Yeah.”

Underneath the starry twinkle of the fairy lights, Patrick heaved a sigh. It was a calming release, and, despite that, he tried to disregard how pathetic it seemed. He pouted at the ceiling. He shuddered to imagine how many other guests had visited this apartment with romantic intentions. Probably plenty who didn’t have issues with their confidence.

Pete bent down and kissed Patrick’s forehead once. Twice. By the third or fourth kiss, he had arrived at Patrick’s ear, and he could feel his pout melting into something more positive. It was encouraging, and he subconsciously held him tighter. Edging toward his throat, he went on, “I hope you’ll get used to me, though. I don’t want to scare you off. And no, you’re not going to be the one who scares me off. When I said I really liked you, I meant it. At least, I like everything I’ve seen so far. Now I’m rambling! Help me out here.”

“I don’t mind rambles. It’s cute. Anyway.. If you’re sure taking this slow won’t bother you,” Patrick did a sharp inhale at the sensation of Pete’s mouth brushing across the hairs of his neck, “then that’s great. We could make this work.”

“Can you define ‘slow’ for me so I don’t fuck it up?” Pete murmured, his lips nuzzled on the dip where Patrick’s collarbone met his neck.

“Sex is, uhhh, off the table for a while. Uhhh, yeah.”

“.. I can respect that. But man, why didn’t you say something when I was talking about taking you home. I feel like an asshole.”

The blood pouring into Patrick’s face produced a splattered blush, his tone innocent, “I thought I could handle it. Clearly, I overestimated myself.”


	9. Chapter 9

“Brrr,” Patrick mumbled as he unlocked his apartment. He tossed his keys onto the counter and began to remove his boots, coat, beanie, and gloves. Bundling to death was his only option since it was below freezing outside. He had just finished an overtime shift at the radio station, which meant plenty of standing and waiting at the bus stop. The call to come in had happened earlier that morning with his manager in tears over an intern no-show. He was always open to making extra money, yet standing in his entryway with fingers and toes on the verge of frostbite made him question if it was worth it. The cherry on top was that the sudden call meant he had no warning to charge his cell phone in advanced, causing him to leave with less than a quarter of his total battery. His avid use of Spotify caused it to die in the first hour of his shift.

In his bedroom, he plugged in his cell phone and forced himself not to look at the incoming notifications. He wanted to at least get comfortable first. The adorable snowman and evergreen pattern of his pajamas soon enveloped his body, matched with a fresh pair of socks and briefs. His day clothes were dropped into the laundry hamper and he sprung toward his bed, the glow of screen catching his gaze. He had unread text messages that were, unsurprisingly, all from Pete. A smile swelled at the corners of his lips. 

After reading the string of texts from the smitten, talkative man that he shared a street with, he began to type out a reply.

_[Patrick: hey sorry, my phone died at work.]_

_[Pete: That sucks!_

_Wait I thought you didn’t have work today?]_

_[Patrick: yeah, but the intern called out and i got paid overtime. so it worked out.]_

_[Pete: Aww, does that mean you worked more than forty hours this week?]_

_[Patrick: bingo.]_

_[Pete: That’s rough! Can I get you anything at CVS? I’m picking up some cleaning stuff right now.]_

Patrick took a moment to think. He wanted to ask Pete to come over in some sort of clever way since he was already out of the house and on his way home. But aside from an utterly generic ‘I just want you’, nothing came to mind. Being overly cheesy or explicit seemed inevitable. He scratched at the back of his neck, stuck. A full two minutes went by until he gave up, shrugged, and decided to roll with the punches. 

_[Patrick: i just want you.]_

_[Pete: That’s all you had to say. I’ll be there in a half hour.]_

_[Patrick: you don’t even know where i live.]_

_[Pete: Haha, true. I kind of do? Maybe I was hoping you would send a smoke signal from your balcony?]_

_[Patrick: it’s #331. go up the south stairs, it’ll be faster and there’s less weirdos that live on that side.]_

_[Pete: Sounds good!]_

Patrick let the cell phone slip from his hand and rolled to the center of his bed, his face aimed toward the ceiling. He arched his spine, refusing to relax until he heard it pop. A few vertebrae were cracked and he released the breath he was holding. He sat up and began to wonder if he should change his clothes or tidy his space. His desire to impress begged him to do so, while his exhaustion pleaded with him to lay down again. He yawned and faintly heard the sound of more notifications arriving..

_Knock, knock!_

“Nngh?” Patrick squeezed his eyes hard and slurped back a stream of drool. He smacked his thumb against his cell phone’s home button and saw that he had been asleep for nearly forty minutes. “It’s, the..?”

He realized that he had agreed to company visiting him and hurried out of bed. The apartment was like an icebox, due to him completely forgetting about the thermostat, and he ran to switch it on before opening the front door. He was greeted by Pete dressed in an enormous overcoat with maroon corduroy pants and a matching scarf, his hands occupied with a bag of cool ranch Doritos and a ten pack sleeve of Reese’s cups. They did a split-second hug, the door shut behind the heels of Pete’s shoes.

“What’s with the food?” Patrick was rubbing his palms together. The burst of frigid air that had followed his guest inside was giving him plenty of shivers. “Please don’t say it’s for me.”

Pete snickered, “What? I can’t bring you presents?”

“Not if it’s junk food.”

“Why?”

Resting on one of the kitchen’s bar stools, Patrick lamented, “I’m trying to cut back. It saves money and saves me from gaining more weight.”

“Well,” Pete leaned across the counter, “since _I_ spent the money and _I_ plan on sharing with you, I don’t see an issue.”

“Uhm..”

Pete walked to where Patrick was sitting and nestled a hand on the small of his back. The touch was cold, however, it wasn’t unwelcomed. The snacks were set on the counter, their wrappers crinkling loudly. He pecked the top of that fluffy bedhead, saying, “You deserve it. All that overtime, ya know?”

“I guess,” Patrick said. He straightened his posture and glanced at Pete. “Reese’s are my favorite, though. Did I tell you that or something? How’d you know?”

“Think I didn’t pay attention when we went to the movies last weekend? I remembered you bought that pack of mini Reese’s, so I figured you wouldn’t mind.”

“How observant. And how, errr, lucky for me?”

Pete beamed and slipped his arms around Patrick’s shoulders, nuzzling his hair. Being able to stand with Patrick remaining seated was lovely; he felt taller and more protective, plus he had a more solid overall view of him. He paused in his nuzzling and studied his surroundings, today serving as the first time he had ever been to the apartment. Last week’s date had been the movies and the week prior had been the blackout. He noticed the leather couch and flat screen (a real television instead of streaming on a laptop!) in the living area, paired with a gaming console and navy blue velour curtains guarding the windows. The kitchen area was sparsely decorated, although the assorted concert tickets and polaroids on the refrigerator gave it a homey vibe. He purred with contentment, “Nice place you got, by the way.”

“Thanks. It’s all right, nothing special. I.. Do you want to see the bedroom?” Patrick’s question came out softly, feelings of incompetence over his appearance, his bedroom’s appearance, and everything in between leapt forward to tear him down. He backtracked, “If you want.”

“Honestly, I thought you’d never ask.”

\---

Patrick had been showing off his record collection when a vintage vinyl for The Cure had snatched Pete’s attention. Pete proceeded to nag for it to be played, Patrick obliged, and they eventually found themselves tangled up on the bed.

“I missed you,” Patrick admitted, his lips freed to speak and his throat now dusted with kisses. “Working the whole week makes the days go by stupidly slow. And it kills me to know that you’re right across the street--”

“Hush,” Pete interrupted. “First of all, I missed you, too. Second of all, you can literally come over whenever you want. Knock on my door at three in the morning asking for a cup sugar, I don’t give a fuck.”

“Mm, not one single fuck?”

“Nope. I’d be blessed to have you at any hour, baby.”

Patrick reveled in these words. Even his shy side was ready to go shout from the rooftops. Receiving what was basically an open invitation to the home of his romantic interest was more than he could ever ask for. And sometimes, this very instant kind of sometimes, he couldn’t believe how the universe had managed to place Pete at his doorstep. The odds of them swiping right and being neighbors in a city like Chicago must be astronomical. He almost wanted to shake his head at how these circumstances had come together so effortlessly for them. 

His train of thought was derailed by his own whimper, prompted by teeth at the top button of his shirt. He missed whatever Pete had said and puzzled, “What?”

“I asked if I could I could undo your shirt. You look a little hot,” Pete said. He made no attempt to hide his flirtatious inflection, his fingers tapping the sheets with anticipation.

“I, I’m, I’m not sure,” Patrick faltered. The bathroom light was barely enough to provide them with sight for a few inches past their faces, the world outside his window drenched in nightfall. He understood that he wouldn’t be fully exposed, and, unfortunately, he didn’t know if that would be enough. “Can you do it instead?”

“Take off your shirt for you?”

“No, take off _your_ shirt.”

Pete sat back on his haunches, his knees holding Patrick’s hips captive, “Ah.. I see what’s going on. How about we both do it? It’ll be a compromise.”

“That’s fair,” Patrick said, not wanting to be the asshole who delayed their fun. “Here, I’ll undo my own shirt. Those buttons are a pain.”

“Hey, Patrick?”

“Yeah?”

Gently, Pete brushed Patrick’s fingers away from the shirt’s top button. He tried not to loom above him as he made eye contact and allowed his hands to wander. He took up the top button for himself and loosened it from its clasp. Even in the low lighting, he could see that first hint of skin waiting for him. He managed to keep his thirst in check, saying, “I can undo the rest for you.”

“.. Okay. But I’m not taking off your shirt in exchange.”

“Why’s that?”

With an awkward chuckle, Patrick confessed, “My hands would definitely shake too much. Actually, I don’t even know if I would be able to move. I feel frozen.”

“You don’t mean frozen with fear, right?” Pete’s fingers continued to make their way down Patrick’s shirt, the buttons liberated one after the other. When he approached the final button, he considered undoing it with his teeth and promptly scrapped the idea. He figured that would possibly be too much. “I don’t want you to be scared.”

“No, no,” Patrick said quickly, “I’m not scared. I mean I’m frozen in a, uhm, in a good way.”

Pete nodded. He gestured for Patrick to shimmy out of his shirt, pretending to be extremely interested in undressing himself. With his shoes and overcoat already at the foot of the bed, his own shirt soon joined them, its snug fabric pulled over his head with a bit of wiggling. His knees continued to keep those rounded hips in place, careful not to pinch him at any point. At the reveal, when they were on even ground, he sucked in his lower lip at the sight of Patrick’s bared upper body. The milky, satiny flesh lain out before him was everything he had imagined it to be. He reached out, thumbs drifting down the center.

“Oh.. I forgot about this,” Pete said in reference to the patch of peach fuzz on Patrick’s chest. He grazed across it in a swirling pattern. “I think I remember seeing this in that tease of a selfie you sent me a while back.”

Patrick swallowed thickly, “You like it? I didn’t peg you as being into chest hair.”

“I’m into everything you’ve got, Patrick.”

“Shut up,” Patrick fussed. He knew Pete was being sincere, but his instinct was to be embarrassed with his hands covering his face and his core tensing up. A defensive position. Having another person fawn over him wasn’t a regular occurrence for him, especially not in bed, and he wasn’t sure if he enjoyed it or not. Although, he understood that he was supposed to enjoy it. He needed to relax. Gradually, he extended his hands toward Pete’s arms and unclenched his jaw in order to speak, “You look handsome.”

Pete couldn’t help taunting him, “Was I not handsome before the shirt came off? Is that what you’re saying?”

“ _Pete_.”

“Okay! I was joking, my bad.”

Patrick reclined further against his pillows as he sensed Pete moving above him. Their mouths were pressed together for a kiss and he parted his lips without hesitation. He had reminded himself of how strange it had been last time with Pete asking for permission. He didn’t want a repeat of that, and he was near-desperate to show how ‘cool’ he was with this happening. He wanted this. His tongue was electrified with the sugary residue of the gum Pete had used to try and erase his stale coffee breath, resulting in an overall bittersweet taste. He involuntarily smacked his lips at the unexpected flavor, which Pete mistook for eagerness, and was soon at the mercy of groping hands. Goosebumps danced across his skin and he moaned. Any timid reaction was shoved aside in favor of indulging in the intimacy.

“You make me,” Pete mentally replaced the following word with something less obscene, “dizzy. So dizzy and I love it.”

“I’m glad,” Patrick said, able to articulate with the given pause. His next sentence became caught up in his throat with Pete’s mouth now drifting south. The wet, cushiony texture of those lips traced a line from his collar bones to his naval. Though surprised, he didn’t stop him. Instead, he held the back of Pete’s head with his right hand, his left laced within the sheets. 

Thrilled with the receptiveness, Pete went to kiss Patrick’s nearest nipple. He darted his tongue onto its perky tip, its rosy color becoming more raw and swollen once his teeth came into the mix. With the hold on the back of his head, he was able to remain propped in a steady stance. He nibbled and licked at the area as long as he could stand to ignore the other side. Moving to the second nipple, he pressed his lower half into Patrick’s. Through the pajama bottoms, he found a hard-on that put his own to shame. This kid felt ready to pop. He squeezed at the waistband, snapping the elastic and asking, “What’re you in the mood for?”

“Wha..?” Patrick trailed off into silence, his eyebrows scrunching to form a perplexed line. He peeked at Pete to see him waiting patiently - impatiently? - for a response. Their faces were close enough for him to notice the glisten of sweat beading at Pete’s temples. Better yet, he could take in all the details of Pete’s naked torso; the dips and curves of tattooed skin, the wispy path of black hair below his belly button, and, Patrick’s favorite, the flat expanse of his stomach area. It had hints of abdominal definition, while also appearing skinny to the point where he was concerned about his eating habits. He hummed in approval. He then took Pete’s right hand and escorted it to the heated bulge beneath his pajama bottoms, requesting, “How do you politely ask someone to, to jackyouoff?”

“You don’t,” Pete said, his laugh having a mischievous ring to it. He flexed his newfound grip and was pleased to hear another moan. “Asking ‘Can you jack me off?’ is about as elegant as it gets. Or, like, you can just ask for me to blow you.”

“Tempting. But I know for a fact that I wouldn’t last ten seconds.”

“Handjob it is, then.”

Patrick returned to hiding behind his hands with his head twisting to bury in the pillow, which slightly muffled his voice, “It’s super romantic when you say it like that. You’re a real Romeo.”

“Heh. And you’re my Juliet,” Pete sang, the waistband finally shoved aside. Past the accompanying pair of briefs, he delicately took up Patrick’s cock and began to move his hand in a rhythmic rubbing motion along the length. It had been years since he had done this, and he had to focus in order to remember what would work best for him, or rather, for Patrick. At the back of his brain, his anxieties were screeching at him to do this flawlessly. He kept his rhythm stable and went in for a kiss. Their connecting lips and the weight of Patrick’s excitement sent an ache to his own cock. 

Patrick accepted the kiss, deepening it and holding Pete by the shoulders. He was melting with delight and needed an anchor, those firm shoulders being exactly that. His short fingernails managed to dig into the flesh he found, and he hoped that Pete wouldn’t mind. He offered him a groan of appreciation, his lips parting further and catching their tongues on the roof of his mouth. The way his cock seemed to flow through the strokes was everything his stupid heart desired. Between smooches, he murmured a ‘ _Yes_ ’ and begged for the touches to continue.

Happy to follow directions, Pete maintained the same pace and grip. He knew one of the biggest mistakes was to change up what he was doing whenever a partner showed signs of enjoyment. If something was working well, there was no need to go faster or rougher or anything like that. Plus, he was pretty sure he could feel Patrick getting harder by the second. A beautifully engorged treat that he didn’t have to share. It made him wonder why it had to be ridiculously dim in here. He would love to get a fuller view.

“ _Yes_ ,” Patrick praised, this time aloud. After ending their makeout session, he had pushed his forehead into the crook of Pete’s neck. In this moment, pajama bottoms halfway down and cock painfully thick, he was dirty and uninhibited. It was absolutely refreshing. He wished he could be this way forever, and he was indeed aware that Pete had everything to do with it. He pulled away to watch him, saliva caught on his chin and precum leaking from his cock. “Don’t stop, don’t stop.. Fuck! I’m gonna cum, I-I’m cumming!”

“Give it to me, cum for me!”

Pete decided to be a gentleman and catch what he could, his mouth aiming for a throbbing target. Regrettably, due to the lack of lighting and how immediate Patrick’s release was, he missed entirely. Splatters of white hit Patrick’s stomach in several waves before dripping down his shaft. Whoops. He went in for a makeshift cleanup duties and polished his cock as it softened. He would have went on to clean Patrick’s stomach if the hands on his shoulders weren’t pushing him in the opposite direction.

“Fuck, I got it. Lemme get a towel,” Patrick gasped. He lay there, tingling and struggling to not further spill his mess.

“No, I can do it. Tell me where your towels are, it’s not a big deal,” Pete said. He rolled off the bed.

“They’re in the sink-- Below the sink. In the bathroom.”

Pete walked into the bathroom and heard a grunt of relief from Patrick behind him. It was quite the satisfying sound. He had done well, he would even say that he had succeeded.

In the bedroom, the record player scratched and signaled the end of Side A.


	10. Chapter 10

In the tiled rectangle of his kitchen, Pete let out a frustrated growl. He gripped the edge of the counter and bowed his head. Defeated. 

“How.. How did I not see that?” He nearly bashed his forehead against his cell phone, a recipe for almond shortbread cookies loaded on the screen. Pulling back, he reread the ingredients (as he should have done before he started baking) and confirmed that, yes, it was indeed one _teaspoon_ of salt not one _tablespoon_ of salt that had been called for. And, of fucking course, he had been generous with that one tablespoon. He had created a salty, unsalvageable wreck. “This sucks! What am I gonna do?”

On the stovetop sat a baking sheet with a dozen cookies pulling an innocent facade. Originally, there had been fourteen, but he had tested and tossed two of them. The first he had tasted eagerly and spat out in disbelief. The second he had tasted more cautiously, followed by a sad heave into the sink upon verifying that he had ruined the batch. He was going to have to shove the remaining cookies and dough into the garbage like a wasteful idiot. Worse yet, he was going to show up to his date empty-handed!

Earlier that day, on a Sunday, his guaranteed day off, he had talked his baking skills up to the point where Patrick had been promised some goodies. Now that he had ruined said goodies with zero time to redo them, he was screwed. He was due to meet Patrick downtown in an hour for dinner. The poor kid was going to be getting off of work with the expectation of fresh almond shortbread cookies, and was instead getting a slap of disappointment. 

Because Pete couldn’t read a recipe.

In the depths of his gut, a knot of nerves clenched with an iron intensity. His subconscious told him that Patrick would hate him for a thousand different reasons, each one spreading with a burst of mental wildfire. It burned. Although, he wasn’t about to prematurely give into his demons. He simply needed a moment to collect himself. Yeah. Knowing that he was probably overreacting, he exhaled and fumbled for his focus.

What was he supposed to do? Text Patrick to cancel the date completely? Claim that his oven had short circuited? Pretend to have forgotten? He winced, annoyed that none of the immediate answers were the truth. That instinct for excuses was really something that needed to be dealt with. Obviously, he knew that he should be honest. Telling lies wasn’t how he wanted to start a new relationship.

“Stupid, stupid,” Pete hissed. He raised his head and stared hopelessly out the kitchen window. “Stupid, I’m..”

Even in his own mind, he used the word ‘relationship’ loosely. They weren’t official. In fact, he had wanted to use the cookies as leverage for that particular conversation. Tonight. He figured after dinner, homemade treats, and verbal flattery, he could pop the question about what the future held for them. They had been meeting up in person for a month, which had him excited to finally have this conversation about labels. From all the signals he had been giving and receiving, he was certain that they could call themselves boyfriends. He pursed his lips in happiness at the thought, despite the fear that he had destroyed his chances along with the cookies.

Ignoring how his gut twisted further, Pete hurriedly cleaned his failed attempt. During his wipedown of the counter, he was forced to lift and rearrange the tiny box he had specifically bought to transport the cookies. It was from the cheapest dollar store in the city, but he adored how it folded like a Chinese takeout box. Its pastel pink hue had reminded him of Patrick’s cheeks whenever he was cold or embarrassed. He had even stolen a fine tip Sharpie from the apartment complex’s front office, scribbling ‘To: Patrick, From: Pete’ on the top of the box. Heartbroken, he placed the box in a nearby cabinet. 

He had the kitchen sparkling in a matter of minutes and wasn’t feeling much better about his situation. Once he had washed his hands, he switched off the lights and sulked into his bedroom to finish getting ready. 

Pete stripped free of his leisure clothes and dressed for the bleak weather that awaited him outside. The final article of clothing he yanked on was his DePaul sweater over his head, the gray fabric matching the glum expression he saw in the mirror. To combat an onset of jitters, he tried to practice what he could say to explain his lack of cookies when he arrived. He puffed his chest and made a fist with both hands.

“Patrick, I’m sorry, I’m-- No, that’s dumb,” Pete cut off the remainder of the apology. His nostrils flared, agitated. “Listen, I know I said I would bake for you--”

His cell phone buzzed with an incoming text. He checked it, realized it was from Patrick, and choked back the urge to freak out. Unlocking the home screen, he read the full message. Its contents could have sent him over the moon with joy. 

_[Patrick: you know how i said almond shortbread is my favorite thing? i lied. it’s you, you’re my favorite.]_

\---

Pete managed to be the first at the restaurant, a little Ukrainian place in the better half of downtown, and he waited for Patrick in the front seating area. He smiled at the hostess and insisted that he would be joined by a friend in a minute. She did a slight eye roll and put her hands on her hips before turning around. He smiled wider. Among the cushioned wooden chairs, he sat beside an older gentleman who was hollering at someone on the other end of his cell phone conversation. He took out his own cell phone and began to use it as a mirror, the black screen showing him his reflection. His bangs were straightened by his sweaty fingertips and he wiped a smudge of flour from behind his ear. When he finished, he checked for any text messages. Not a single one.

He sighed.

“Interesting,” Patrick’s voice came from Pete’s left side, mellow and warm. He had appeared in the midst of Pete’s dismay. “This place smells like cabbage, but.. in a good way? I’m curious to see how our food will taste.”

“Patrick!” Pete stood so fast he saw stars, and he captured the shorter man in a brief hug. He let go, though his hands remained at Patrick’s shoulders. “You look great, let’s get a table.”

“Sure.”

Pete didn’t have time to dwell on how rushed he sounded, nor on the missing cookies - the hostess was already beckoning them toward the podium, impatient. She confirmed their table for two and then ushered them to a spot in the middle of the restaurant. It was somehow both cozy and exposed, the lack of dividers bleeding into the embroidered tablecloth and leather bound menus. Seating themselves, the hostess promised that a waiter would be with them shortly.

“This place is super close to my job. Seriously, the radio station is right down the road,” Patrick commented with a peek at the menu. Its bilingual format and abundance of photographs intrigued him, which meant his head was kept down. 

Pete chirped with enthusiasm, “Yeah, I remembered you telling me the cross streets, so I picked something within walking distance.”

“Hm. What if I told you I took the bus to get here?”

“Oh my God, did you?”

“No, I’m teasing,” Patrick said. He was a bit surprised that Pete had almost believed him, and he wondered if he was on edge for some reason. He nudged him beneath the table, the tips of their boots touching. “But it _was_ a pretty cold walk over. That wind doesn’t let up.”

Pete’s reply was lost as their waiter appeared with two glasses of ice water. He turned to acknowledge the young man, who had greeted them. The day’s specials were rattled off with a thick accent, followed by the promise of returning in a moment to take their order. The waiter gave a small bow and vanished into the kitchen. 

“Anyway, what’s good here? Have you been here before?” Patrick asked. He had reburried his nose in the menu, eyebrows raised at the many foreign ingredients.

“Actually, eheh, no, I haven’t. But I like Ukrainian food and the Yelp page for this place said they specialize in soups,” Pete said. He replayed his words in his head, wondering how weird he sounded right now. He gnawed the inside of his cheek.

Patrick nodded, “Their soups look good, yeah. What’s.. Uhhh, I’ll probably say this wrong.. What’s rassol-rassolnik?”

“It’s like a cucumber soup. It’s got a spicy, pickle-ish flavor and it usually comes with sausage.”

“Wow, the description here just says ‘Vegetable and filling’.”

They shared a laugh. Soon after, they chose their desired soups; the rassolnik for Patrick and a country stew for Pete, with their menus closed and their eyes stuck on each other. They chatted about everything and anything that had happened to them in the past few days since they had last hung out, Pete allowing Patrick to take the lead. With Patrick having worked a higher amount of hours lately, he was more talkative and animated. Pete listened and peacefully soaked it all in. 

Their waiter swung by a second time, questioning if they were ready to order. Filled with fluffy bread rolls, the basket he was carrying came with a side of butter and jam in square ceramic containers. He set the items down and grabbed his notepad and pen. With their orders taken and nothing else currently needed, he left them to their own devices. 

Casually, Pete picked up a roll and split it with his knife. He spread a thin layer of butter over it, followed by the jam, and prayed that he could lead into this without his anxiety taking over, “I tried to make you those cookies today. I was out of a few things, so I had to go to the grocery store.”

“I hope that wasn’t too much trouble for you,” Patrick said. He took a bite out of a plain bread roll, chasing it with a gulp of water. “How’d it go? Did they turn out all right?”

Pete blinked. Wait, that hadn’t been the response he was expecting. Or, at least, the dread that had been building in the back of his mind had convinced him that it was going to be much, much worse than what he actually heard. He looked Patrick up and down. There was no ‘Where’s my cookies?’ or ‘What do you mean you _tried_ ?’. It was merely Patrick expressing concern, being his sweet self. The same as he had been in that text message prior to their meetup. He wished he could reach across the table, grab him by his shirt collar, and kiss him a thousand times over. For now, he settled for the truth, “I kinda ruined them. I accidentally put in way too much salt and I didn’t have a chance to remake them. Totally my fault, and I’ll make it up to you soon.”

His body tingled and he figured that was the universe absolving him of his sins. 

“Shit, you should have brought them. I would have tasted them,” Patrick said with a genuine eagerness. 

“Nah, that would be a dick move,” Pete retorted, though he was secretly pleased with Patrick’s appetite to taste his mistake. It showed an immense amount of trust, in his opinion. “I was scared that you were gonna be mad or something..”

“What, why? You’re not under a contract to bring me cookies, Pete. You’re not a girl scout.”

“Didn’t I ever tell you? Troop number 666, with Sergeant Master Satan?”

Patrick snorted, “If you’re a girl scout, then I’m the running back for the Bears.”

“Oooh,” Pete trilled. He sipped from his glass, organizing his thoughts. “I mean, if you really were a football star, I’m pretty sure my parents would approve. They don’t like me dating boys, but a famous athlete could definitely persuade them.”

“I think you mentioned their mild homophobia. It’s both of them that feel that way?”

“Yep. It’s mostly my dad, though.”

“Same here. That always seems to be the case.”

Pete’s tone was wary, his pace slowed, “Would your parents be upset if you were with a guy long term?”

“.. I doubt they would be a hundred percent on board,” Patrick said, kneading another bread roll between his fingers, “but they wouldn’t fight it. Besides, they know I want something long term. The guy I bring home would have to put that extra effort into wowing them.”

“How would I--? How would someone know what counts as extra effort?”

“I’d tell them what my parents like and don’t like. We would have a pep talk about what to expect when the time came.”

“We?” Pete’s mouth curled with anticipation, his previous worries a distant memory.

Gracefully unphased, Patrick told him, “Yes. We would.”

\---

With their bellies full, on the verge of sloshing with every step, they exited the restaurant and braved the snowy sidewalk. They planned on sharing the bus ride home together and relaxing at Pete’s for a couple hours. Falling asleep while cuddling was a plan they were prepared to carry out. Naturally, Patrick turned in the direction of the nearest bus stop. He was blocked by Pete’s arm around his waist, pulling him in and pressing chapped lips to his ear for a whisper. 

“Hey, can I stop by the Aldi’s? I wanna grab a snack. There’s one half a block away.” Pete kept his hold firm, his nose roaming and stealing the heat off Patrick’s skin.

“That’s fine,” Patrick answered. The dirty blonde bangs sticking out from his beanie were tucked behind the ear that Pete wasn’t harassing, and he noted that he should get a haircut sooner rather than later. “What kind of snack?”

“I’ll decide when I get there.”

“Let’s go, then.”

Inside the Aldi’s, as they defrosted from their journey, they floated toward the junk food section. It was one gigantic aisle that stretched to cover chocolates, gummies, candy bars, pastries, and cookies. Sugar was effortlessly infused in the air. The fluorescent lights above them illuminated the colorful packaging and recently-mopped floors. Empty aside from an abandoned shopping cart, they had the aisle to themselves.

Pete pretended to browse the selection of bulk candy, which was packaged with Valentine’s Day themed images and phrases. He snatched up a cheesy heart-shaped box of caramels and waved them at Patrick, saying, “Will you be my valentine? If you can’t, I understand. There’s this cute neighbor boy I can ask, instead.”

“Very funny,” Patrick said dryly. He swiped at the box, missed, and shoved his hands in his pants’ pockets. “Is this why you brought me here? So you you could make jokes?”

“No, I promise that’s not why. But it _is_ romantic in here, there’s something about those late night grocery store vibes.”

“What planet are you from again?”

Pete giggled, “Earth, last time I checked. C’mon, I might have a spaceship parked at the end of this aisle.”

With his hands still in his pockets and several steps behind, Patrick dragged in Pete's wake. They made a path along the remainder of the aisle, and didn’t stop until they reached the wall of cookies at the end. He recalled the failed attempt to fulfill his request for an homemade baked goods. His steps became more measured and demure in his realization of what was happening. He scrambled to push back, searching for how to tell Pete that he didn’t need the extra calories without sounding ungrateful. 

Pete beat him to the punch, “Pick whatever you want. It’s to make up for me messing up your cookies this afternoon. Hell, you don’t have to pick cookies, you can get anything.”

“Don’t worry, I, I swear I’m not mad at you or expecting anything,” Patrick argued. A blush began to smear over his face and neck.

“And that’s exactly why I want to give you this. You’re so understanding even when stuff goes wrong. Like, when I go wrong.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It is for me,” Pete said. His fingers brushed against a row of packages before finding their way to Patrick’s closest arm, squeezing it. “You have no idea how well you can calm me down sometimes.. Plus, it’s fun for me to buy you a present once and awhile. ”

“You dork,” Patrick muttered. It was difficult to come up with much beyond that, his thoughts a jumbled puddle of endearment. He did a quick check around them to ensure they were alone, pecking Pete’s cheek upon confirming that the coast was clear. 

“Honestly, I wish I could give you the world. I want to be enough for you.”

“You are.”

Pete gave him another squeeze, dropping his grip and admiring how gorgeous he was in the middle of this goddamn snack aisle - the exhaustion of a day’s work forming bags beneath his lower lash line, his stomach bloated and spine scrunched. So perfect. A twitch in his chest told him to ask Patrick, to offer himself as his official boyfriend. Their relationship was on the precipice of the next level. This could be it. Their night had gone miles better than expected, and this was his opportunity to end it on the strongest note possible. All he had to do was say what he felt.

“Let’s pick some snacks. I’m paying, okay?”


	11. Chapter 11

Patrick’s knees were aching, which was unfortunate since he had barely been on them for a minute or so, and he let out a soft grunt of frustration. His fingers were hooked at the hem of Pete’s jeans with his mouth directly above that bat heart tattoo. The rest of his body was framed by Pete’s legs, holding him close from where they dangled over the edge of the bed. He kissed the exposed flesh for what had to be the fourth time, stalling the situation. And it wasn’t that he didn’t know what to do, it was a matter of finding his courage. 

He had forgotten how hard it was to suck dick. Pun intended.

“.. You don’t have to--” Pete started, cut off half-way through.

“No, no,” Patrick inhaled. His grip on Pete’s jeans cinched and he brought his head up to make eye contact. “I’m being silly. Don’t worry.”

“Can I help?” 

“If you ‘helped’, wouldn’t that just be masturbation?”

Pete chuckled, touching along Patrick’s jawline and saying, “You’re funny. Here, lemme see.”

With a few agile movements, Pete freed his erection. Even in the dim glow of his bedroom, he had no trouble undoing his own familiar jeans. His briefs followed suit, and he eventually had both articles of clothing snug around his thighs, his bare ass on the sheets beneath him. This was only the second time he had fully exposed himself to Patrick, but he was content and confident. Bashfulness was an unknown feeling to him. 

“Thanks,” Patrick murmured as the new smell of musk danced inside his nose. He did his best to not look like a deer in headlights, and brushed his hand forward on the base of Pete’s cock. His knees sent out another pang of misery. “I.. What did you say your preference was again? I’m blanking.”

“Sucking on the head, squeezing on the shaft. I made it easy for you, it’s basically an alliteration. Sort of,” Pete said. He was grinning, palms now splayed on either side of himself.

“All right. Tell me if something feels off.”

“Gotcha.”

Patrick’s hand shifted to hold Pete around the middle of his cock. He tilted inward and stamped his lips to the tip, kissing firmly enough to elicit a pleasant purr from the man above. Repeating this action twice more, he paused to lick off the stain of precum decorating his lips, no doubt the result of their previous makeout session. Its saltiness was expected, the flavor bright and pungent on his taste buds. For a moment, he realized that they hadn’t discussed what would happen for the climax of events, however, he didn’t want to disrupt the mood with questions. A bit flustered, he abandoned the kisses and instead put his entire mouth over the tip. He slid down by a half inch or so, and began to suck. The hand still holding Pete moved in a jerking motion with added squeezes whenever he managed to remember.

Multitasking wasn’t typically his strong suit, unless it involved something related to music, and he forced himself to focus. His eyes clamped shut. Focus.

“That’s amazing, so good,” Pete praised. A shiver raced through his spine, and he went to tentatively touch him. The button up shirt Patrick was wearing was mostly undone, having drifted out of place to show off those rounded porcelain shoulders. He held onto those shoulders, his nails digging in ever so slightly. It took all he had to block his more aggressive side from taking over with actual scratching. “Patrick..”

“Mm.. hm..?”

“Nothing, you’re just a fuckin’ peach.”

Patrick was soothed by the compliment, though he didn’t know exactly what it meant, and he tried to maintain his pace. His tongue swirled against the top of Pete’s erection, venturing further toward the underside and feeling saliva dribble past his chin. The more he sucked, the more sloppy he became. The messiness bothered him to a point where he wished he could clean it - was that normal? - and his fingers were practically twitching with anticipation. A plan on how to stealthily wipe his chin struggled to form inside his racing mind. Fortunately, he became distracted by Pete’s eager whines of approval. 

“That’s perfect, yeah, yeah.” Pete continued to hold him by the shoulders, somewhat clinging. After about two months of seeing each other, he felt that the timing couldn’t have been better. They were in a solid spot. And while this wasn’t a life-altering blowjob, it had been at least a year since he had gotten his dick wet. Which, _fuck_ , Patrick was really emphasizing the ‘wet’ part. If anything, he couldn’t even remember the last person to give him this much affection. Not that he cared for anyone else. Patrick’s attention to detail and enthusiasm was all he needed. He leaned into a particularly powerful stroke and sang, “Uhn, right there..”

It was difficult for Patrick to discern _where_ Pete meant by ‘Right there’, which meant he had to do a little guesswork to find out. Again, he definitely wasn’t about to stop and ask. Through a series of touches and licks, he managed to locate the sweet spot - a tender strip of skin that stretched along the underside of Pete’s cock. It was hot and trembling and hard. He stuck his tongue to the area and swiped it back and forth, his grip dampened in the process. At the same time, his knees sent out a fresh shockwave of pain from their place on the hardwood floor. With a fleeting glance to the man above him, Pete’s euphoric expression gave him a sense of relief. He could do this because he wanted to do this.

Minutes passed, the bedroom playing host to a stream of passionate noises.

“H-Hey,” Pete breathed, his fingers now at the back of Patrick’s head and his hips in a seemingly-permanent arch, “I’m gonna cum soon. Can you, ahhh, put your mouth to where your hand is? I’ll catch it so you don’t have to.”

“You sure?” Patrick observed him with a steady gaze. The more hesitant part of him was glad to skip this, but of course he hoped that what he had already done was enough.

“Yeah, just suck in the middle there and, like, I’ll do the rest.. Goddamn, you look gorgeous.”

“Okay. And thanks.”

Patrick locked his lips in the correct position, creating a vacuum seal and lapping at the silky surface. At the edge of the bed, he clutched the bundle of sheets between Pete’s thighs. He offered a whimper for added excitement as he noticed Pete’s right hand move to hold the top half of his wet cock. He heard a husky laugh given in response to the whimper, their bodies tensing with the silence when it ended. 

Pete caressed himself in the best way he knew how to get a reaction. Any sort of shyness that may be involved with masturbating in front of another person was nonexistent, and Patrick picked up that slack by continuing to appear flustered. They worked together, stroking and sucking, until Pete couldn’t stand it anymore. He ached with the pain of a pent-up release. He hurriedly whispered for Patrick to watch out for spillage, being the gentleman that he was, then allowed his orgasm to surge through him. He hissed something inaudible from behind his bared teeth and felt the thick pulses of cum slip away with ease. A gasp broke the quiet of the bedroom. He came slowly, rocking to some unknown rhythm and dripping heavily rather than squirting into the air. White globs gathered over his closed fist, the amount impressing him and pushing him to look at Patrick.

Patrick, his mouth removed and seated on his haunches, was preparing to speak. Specifically, to check where the towels were. But he failed at the opportunity to do so. He was taken aback by what he heard next.

“Baby, I gotta make you my boyfriend,” Pete said. He sighed like a sinner confessing on a Sunday and flopped backward on the sheets.

\---

When morning shone through and their night of intimacy had ended, they decided that breakfast would be a good choice. They were starving and itching to escape the confines of Pete’s apartment. It was Saturday, which meant every joint in the city would be packed with people. They hustled to get dressed, not saying much to each other, and they were out the door headed for the bus stop before the clock struck ten.

“I can’t believe we’ve never been to Lou’s. It’s pretty close and the food is crazy delicious,” Pete said. They were about to arrive at their destination, the upcoming stop located in front of a strip mall with a series of dingy storefronts. Beyond the pawn shop and liquor market, Lou Mitchell’s was the star attraction of the area, with its world famous pancakes and bubbly waitstaff pushing it to stand out from anything around it. It was a neighborhood staple. 

“Yeah, glad you thought of it,” Patrick replied, nodding to the bus driver when they stepped onto the concrete. “I used to go with one of my cousins before he moved away, we would get double stacks with strawberries and whipped cream.”

“Hah, cute,” Pete beamed, “but it wasn’t my idea to come here. It was yours, remember?”

“.. Right.”

“You okay?”

Patrick rubbed the corners of his eyes, their blue green color more dull than usual, “I’m fine. Let’s go eat.”

Pete brushed his fingers over Patrick’s hand for reassurance. He wasn’t too certain what was going on, although it was obvious that there was an issue. In fact, he had been suspicious from the second they had awoken this morning. Patrick had been extra quiet, his kisses weak. While they walked to the entrance of Lou’s, he scanned his brain for whatever he had done wrong, assuming that he was at fault here. That was typically the case. In this relationship and all previous ones, he was the one who would say or do something that irritated his partner. He blamed his rashness and inability to self-soothe. 

In the midst of his replay of their recent time together, Pete failed to find an instance where he could have possibly caused a problem. Huh. Or perhaps, was he not analyzing himself with enough scrutiny? Was it how he had told Patrick to ‘Hurry up’ earlier this morning, had his tone been rude? Was it how hard he had smacked Patrick’s ass last night on their way to his bedroom last night, had it been unnecessarily rough? No, that wasn’t it.. Last night.. ! Internally, he howled in realization. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

“Patrick--” 

“Wow,” Patrick interrupted him, grasping the restaurant’s door handle and flinging it wide open, “there’s hardly a line. Lucky us.”

Pete made a meek sound of agreement. His footsteps became light, almost frightened. Inside, they were seated at a booth under a large window, their view limited to a parking lot spotted with ice and trash. Thankfully, the rousing aromas of coffee, bacon, and syrup overwhelmed their nostrils and diverted their attention. They focused on the menus, determined to build a hearty Americana feast. Neither looked up at the other.

Once their orders were placed, French toast and hashbrowns for Pete and pancakes with seasonal fruit and granola for Patrick, they had their menus removed by a waitress. She promised their food would be out in a jiffy, and pranced away through the maze of chairs and customers. Without any reading material to hide behind, there was no space for keeping secrets. They faced one another with a level of vulnerability that would have been devastating in private. 

“I think I know why you’re mad,” Pete said, backtracking upon seeing Patrick’s frown, “I mean, not mad. I meant to say.. Sad? Disappointed? Help me out here, c’mon.”

Patrick’s forehead was rippled with annoyance, and he instinctively folded his arms across his chest. He figured that he could take a fairly accurate guess as to what this was about, and decided to let Pete flounder. Just for a minute or two.

“Please don’t be mad. I kinda fucked up yesterday,” Pete acknowledged. 

“Your words, not mine.”

“So you agree?”

Patrick’s arms slackened in their fold, his lips puckered, “Agree with what?”

“ _That I fucked up_ ,” Pete articulated, teetering on exasperation. He cupped his hands and inhaled deeply to regain composure. “I.. I mentioned making you my boyfriend. Don’t get me wrong - I’m happy I said it, it needed to be put out there.”

“Uhhh, I’d say it needed to be actually asked.”

“I’m getting to that.”

Patrick shrugged. 

Clicking his tongue, Pete pressed on, “I wanted to ask you in a more, like, proper way. I had planned on asking you with the homemade cookies, but that was ruined. And you know I’m sorry for that. I’ve been trying to find a time to ask you, I promise. It’s been on my mind so much it’s no wonder I blurted it out last night.”

“Why didn’t you ask me without the cookies?” Patrick half-snapped, failing to recognize how sharply his attitude poked through. “It wouldn’t have been a big deal.”

“I wanted to do it with the cookies. Plus my anxiety was kicking in pretty hard after I saw you that day.”

“Pete, I distinctly remember telling you that I didn’t care if the cookies were messed up or whatever.”

“I still wasn’t ready to ask you then.”

“Seriously?” Patrick scoffed. He grabbed one of the two straws that the waitress had left them for their water glasses, ripping off its paper casing. Toying with the trash he had created, he refused to meet Pete’s gaze. “I was nice about the cookie thing, and that wasn’t enough?”

“Nope. And you’re not being nice right now, you’re sorta being an asshole,” Pete said, dismayed. He couldn’t believe how fast this conversation had turned into a trainwreck. Sadly, he didn’t know if he wanted to save it.

“Says you.”

“What kind of childish bullshit is that? What am I supposed to say to that?”

“I dunno.”

“So helpful,” Pete said sarcastically. “You’re really boxing me in.”

“I’m not. I didn’t demand an elaborate gesture, you could have asked me on Valentine’s Day last week. That would have been fine,” Patrick told him. He tossed the rolled piece of paper at the napkin dispenser.

“It wouldn’t have been special.”

“And? _This_ is better?”

At this point, Pete was at a loss. He was highly aware that this was going nowhere, at that a few of their fellow diners had taken note of their squabbling. Underneath the table, he clenched his fists. This was embarrassing, and he wasn’t about to be the only idiot suffering from it. He swallowed his dignity and became venomous with his next question, “Why do I have to be the one to ask you? Why can’t you ask me to be your boyfriend?”

“What? Y-You,” Patrick sputtered, beet red and caught off guard, “I don’t have to explain my reasons to you.”

“Yeah because I already know why. You’re too shy and you want me to do all the work.”

“That’s not, that’s not true.”

“Then enlighten me.”

Patrick didn’t do well when put on the spot. He didn’t have an answer for Pete, and he couldn’t simply make one up. He was stuck. In the pit of his stomach, he knew that he had provoked their conversation and dragged forth their worst qualities. He was part of the problem. Of course, he wasn’t going to admit that or concede to Pete’s argument about his shyness. He was stubborn. He metaphorically dug his heels in, glaring daggers at that dumbass handsome face across from him. He didn’t speak.

Standing with a rush of angry adrenaline, Pete waved him off, saying, “I’m done with this for today. Text me when you’re feeling more mature. See ya.”

“Pete.”

“Bye.”

Pete shoved away from the booth and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. He placed three five dollar bills and a twenty dollar bill on the table, wondering if that would fully cover both their meals and a tip. How ridiculous. He shook his head at the thought and proceeded with his dramatic exit.

Fighting or not, it was tough for him to not care for Patrick.


	12. Chapter 12

_[Patrick: hey can we talk? or can i come over?]_

__

__

_[Pete: I’m at work. I’m busy today.]_

_[Patrick: well can i see you afterwards?]_

_[Pete: I’m gonna have to pass on that offer, I’ve been exhausted lately and need some time to myself.]_

_[Patrick: what about tomorrow? i’m free all day.]_

_[Pete: Tomorrow’s no good. I’ve got a few things to do, sorry.]_

_[Patrick: please just an hour or so, i want to see you._

_can we get an early breakfast? or late night drinks? you can’t be busy twenty-four seven._

_pete?]_

At a loss, Patrick dropped his cell phone onto his pillow. He pressed his face into the mattress and began to think. He wasn’t stupid, he knew he was being ignored. But did he deserve it? His inflexible side claimed that he was innocent, while his more reasonable side nagged him about how he had behaved on their last date. Their last date.. Shit, he hoped he hadn’t ended them in the middle of a diner. That had just been a fight, hadn’t it? They were only fighting right now, weren’t they?

“Ugh..” He rolled to face the ceiling, glaring at the smooth swaths of ivory paint. Its blank canvas reminded him of how he felt inside. He scrunched his features in annoyance. 

It seemed that he wasn’t going to resolve this through text messages. He had to take action.

Patrick sat up and trekked toward his closet. He ditched his loungewear in favor of a knitted sweater and jeans. In addition, he pulled on his vintage MTV beanie and a pair of gloves. That late February weather was still brutal in the city, and he didn’t want to freeze to death before he got to where he needed to go. He shut the closet hard enough to make the wood squeak.

And where exactly was he going?

Once he was fully dressed, he opened Google Maps on his cell phone and searched for the ‘Daily Journal’, Pete’s workplace. It took him a good minute, though he was soon able to locate what was, apparently, the main office building for the newspaper. He dialed the number that appeared along with the address. Impatiently, he was passed through a system of redirects and being put on hold until he was able to ring the editorial office. When the other end was answered, he prayed that it might be Pete.

“The Daily Journal, this is Holly for the editor’s department. How can I help you?” The woman’s voice was nonchalant, calmly awaiting a response from the other end.

“Errr, hi,” Patrick said, suddenly unsure, “I’m looking for Peter Wentz. Is he in today?”

“Yes, he is.”

“Okay. So, I.. What time does he get off?”

Holly had become stern, her raised eyebrows evident in her inflection, “I’m afraid I can’t disclose that information. May I ask who’s calling?”

“Okaythanksbye.”

Hating the fact that he had somewhat chickened out, Patrick distracted himself by checking the time. It was a quarter past three. He figured if he jumped on the next bus heading for the west side, he could catch Pete before he left the office. That was as much of a plan that he could come up with at the moment. Details could be hashed out on the bus ride. He headed to the front door, keys in hand and with a slight scowl on his lips.

Should he have waited for Pete outside of his apartment? No way, that was too stalkerish. Should he have warned Pete that he was coming to his place of work? No way, that was somehow _more_ stalkerish. He would stick with the element of surprise. That wasn’t too stalkerish. Absolutely not.

Patrick hadn’t seen Pete in almost a week. The man he was regularly feeling up and staring into the eyes of, _who lived across the street from him_ , had recently been absent in his life. He had to change that. Now that he thought about it, he wouldn’t be opposed to seeing Pete every day, even if they didn’t go on an actual date with planned activities or restaurants. In fact, waking up to Pete every day didn’t sound so bad, either - though he may be embarrassed by his own morning breath or have to fight over which type of cereal should be opened first. Regardless, he could deal with that.

He had to tell him all this.

\---

Huddled at his desk, Pete was mulling over what Holly had told him. Someone, apparently a timid-sounding young man, had called looking for him. To add to that, this someone had also wanted to know when he was going to clock out for the day. It was suspicious to the point that he could take a pretty good guess as to who was calling. He wasn’t terribly surprised, nor was he terribly thrilled. Involuntarily, he pinched the skin on the bridge of his nose. Things between he and Patrick were fairly messy for the time being. 

He tapped the home button on his cell phone and realized that he hadn’t replied to Patrick’s previous texts. What’s more, his own overall tone throughout their entire conversation had been dismissive and grumpy. 

No wonder Patrick had gotten to the point of trying to reach him at work.

Pete shook his head, a fountain pen balanced on his fingertips. He wasn’t the only bad guy here. The reason he had been rude in their text conversation was because of the bullshit that had happened at Lou’s. Their cheery breakfast date had snowballed into a verbal onslaught of why they weren’t officially a pair of boyfriends. The spark that had ignited their anger was lost on him. It had been such a nonsensical chain of events that he could barely recall what had caused both of them to go off. The fountain pen was dropped and he watched it roll across the worn cherrywood of his desk.

“I’m gonna head home a bit early,” Pete told Holly, since her desk was closest to him and she usually answered any incoming calls. “Apologies in advance if there are more weird calls about me with people hanging up on you halfway through.”

“It’s no problem. But do you have a clue as to who it was? They certainly were eager to get information on you,” Holly said, her coral lipstick stretching with her smile.

“I think I know, yeah.”

“Better take care of it or else you’ll start tying up the phone lines! The boss man won’t like that.”

Pete gave a small cough, “That’s true. I’ll get it sorted out, have a good night.”

“Same to you.” Holly returned to her computer screen, her hands hovering above the keyboard. With the click-clack of her typing, she added, “Good luck.”

Silently, Pete gathered his windbreaker and work bag. He tossed the empty deli sandwich container from his lunch into the trashcan below his desk, wiping a few crumbs of bread discreetly to the floor. He took his half-full soda cup in his free hand and stuck the straw in his mouth. Dr. Pepper coated his tongue as he walked toward the office’s front door. He waved and nodded to a couple of coworkers along the way to the elevator, although he mostly kept to himself. He was able to bow his head until he passed through the revolving glass door on the first floor. He peeked up at the sky and grimaced. It was drizzling.

He paused to think beneath the safety of the building’s overhang. With no umbrella and a ten minute walk to the bus stop, he wanted to stay dry for as long as possible. He checked the weather app and saw that the rain was predicted to remain at a steady drizzle for the next couple of hours. Great. Scrolling away from the weather app, which he rarely used, he noticed another app that he had tucked into the recesses of his cell phone - Tinder. Its flame icon was somehow menacing, and he immediately thought of Patrick and their fight. He was flooded with mental images of that beautiful dirty blonde hair and that stubborn attitude. His ribcage became tight around his lungs, the good and bad memories they had created together bouncing around his skull. He missed him, and he didn’t know what to do about it. 

For the time being, he settled on uninstalling Tinder.

As if on cue, Pete’s imagination got away from him and he began to picture Patrick walking toward him - holding an umbrella and with his face more lovely than he remembered. He blinked hard. When the illusion failed to disappear, he hollered, “Am I dreaming? Or is this just a big cliché?” 

They eyed each other warily, uncertain of what type of mood to set. Above them, the overcast sky rumbled with indifference. 

“I’m afraid it’s a big cliché,” Patrick replied, hurrying his footsteps to ensure that he was heard. He stopped in front of Pete, panting. His umbrella was shaken of excess water and was soon tucked in the crook of his elbow. “Meeting up with you in the rain is a romantic gesture, isn’t it?”

“Hmph. I’d say that blowing up my phone and chasing me to my workplace is even more swoon-worthy.”

“Right..”

Pete backpedaled, deciding that he shouldn’t be too harsh on him, “Are you here to escort me home? I guess I wouldn’t mind some company on the bus.”

“Yeah, see,” Patrick’s demeanor more upbeat, “that’s actually the plan. But we’re not taking the bus.”

“The subway, then?”

“I felt like I should, uhm, show you how sorry am for acting like an idiot the other day. I wanted to take an Uber back to your apartment.”

“What? No way, c’mon, that would be twenty or thirty bucks,” Pete said to counter the proposal. Nevertheless, he was touched that Patrick admitted to his mistake and was trying to make up for it.

Patrick grinned and quickly checked his cell phone, “Too bad. I already paid for it. A guy named.. Fernando? Yeah, he’s picking us up at this address in three minutes. Look for a silver Mazda.”

“Twist my arm, why don’t ya?”

“I’d prefer it if you put your arm around me, if I’m being honest.”

Pete snickered, complimented him on how smooth that line was, and did as he was told. He kept a firm grip around Patrick’s shoulders, not moving prior to the arrival of their ride. 

\---

Their ride home was nearly wordless, with no more than a few pleasantries exchanged with their driver. They also chose not to hold hands for fear of any negative reaction in such an enclosed space, and instead kept as close to each other that their seat belt restraints would allow, knees less than an inch apart. 

When they reached their destination, square in the middle of the gates to Pete’s apartment complex, they hopped out of the car and thanked the driver. With the drizzle having shifted to downpour, they scurried inside without a second thought. Patrick’s umbrella did its job to shield them, though the wind flung spatters of raindrops into their faces. This led to plenty of sopping wet hair and shirt collars. A trail of water followed them into the apartment, the welcome mat doing nothing in defense.

“Fuck, I can’t wait for spring,” Pete said. He shrugged off his windbreaker and wrung out his bangs. “Thanks for saving me from the bus. I’m sure it smelled like wet dog.”

“Glad you prefer me over wet dog. That’s a start,” Patrick nodded. He hadn’t yet removed his coat, standing just past the doorway with a worried stare.

“I prefer you over most things. Like, a lot of things.”

“.. Does that mean I can stay?”

Pete turned to observe him. The way his chin was bent toward the floor with his arms folded and heel tapping, he seemed genuinely doubtful that he was would receive permission to stay here. It wasn’t a happy sight, not particularly, however it did show the level of apology that he was trying to convey. He understood. He closed the distance between them with a tender kiss, saying, “I want you to stay for as long as you can. And I’m sorry, too.”

“You-You’re sorry? You didn’t need say that. I’m the one who.. I..” Patrick trailed into a soft sniffle, his nose roughly wiped. The warmth of the kiss had startled him, it had made him feel welcomed.

“Oh, hush, I know you’re sorry. We both are because we both acted dumb. But hey, I’ll let you take more of the blame, it you want,” Pete joked. He motioned for Patrick to step further inside and went to switch on the thermostat. 

Exhaling, Patrick made himself at home. He was on the couch in flash with his feet on the coffee table and a blanket cocooning his body. He politely refused Pete’s offer for a drink, watching him from the kitchen. Somewhere in his subconscious, he had thought of how he was going to gracefully, earnestly ask Pete to be his boyfriend. Whatever the method was, it was lost. The very idea of even uttering the word ‘boyfriend’ put him on edge. They had scarcely recovered from their fight, so was it really the best time to ask? How could he know? A surge of cowardice swam through him, and he sunk further into the cushions.

“I decided to leave work early today, I just felt a little off. But I guess my Patrick senses were tingling because you were right there when I walked out,” Pete chimed while he made a place for himself on the couch. 

“I hope you didn’t get in trouble or anything.” Patrick brushed up against him, his legs curled up to one side. He laced their hands into a tight hold and ran his thumb along the bumps of Pete’s knuckles. “I know you work hard and stuff.”

“That’s true, but like, what’s the point of working hard if I don’t have someone to share my life with?”

“What do you mean?”

“Basically,” Pete drawled, nuzzling into the top of Patrick’s head, “if I work hard and make money and do right by the world, I’ll still feel empty if I come home to an empty place every night.”

“That’s.. It’s a good thing I live across the street, then?” Patrick offered. “Unless I’m completely misinterpreting what you’re implying?”

“I better not ‘imply’ a damn thing, I don’t want to mince words like last time, I, I want you to be my boyfriend. Exclusive and official and the cutest couple that happens to be neighbors.”

Patrick’s ears literally perked. It wasn’t entirely unexpected, although finally hearing it outloud was such an enormous pressure lifted from him, his whole existence felt lighter and brighter. He immediately leapt forward for a hug, knocking Pete sideways by a foot or so. There was no reply aside from a muffled yelp of joy, his lips peppering Pete’s neck with a barrage of smooches. He tried to speak and was sabotaged by his own enthusiasm. 

“Can I take that as a ‘yes’?” Pete smiled, patiently holding Patrick and continuing to nuzzle his head.

“Yes!”

“Good.”

Pete was elated. And he was relieved and anxious all at once. The emotions he was experiencing weren’t overwhelming, merely a mix that was new to him. Having Patrick in his life, especially in a more permanent sense, gave him the perfect amount of adventure and comfort. That’s what his giddy, thumping heartbeat told him, anyway. He eventually caught Patrick’s lips for a more full kiss, released them with a smack, and said, “I love how excited you are. I’ll have to seriously prepare myself for your reaction for when I ask you to move in with me.”

“Is that, is that a promise?” Patrick wondered with a smile.

“Promises are for high school kids with purity rings. What I said is a fact, Patrick.”

**Author's Note:**

> All done! Hopefully things didn't feel too rushed, but I'm happy I was able to give them a positive, open ending.


End file.
